


i have toured the endless starlight (take me home)

by yunmin



Series: starlight [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Military, Pilots, Pining, Politics, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post TFA Speculation, Rapier Squadron, Space Politics, The New Republic - Freeform, friendships, the resistance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, after the dust settles and the Resistance counts its dead, Poe Dameron wonders what in the galaxy one does next.</p><p>He sits beside Finn in the medbay and for the first time he considers throwing it all away, duty be damned, if it’ll mean that Finn is alright. But dreams are for a different world, and General Organa needs him. So Poe goes to work; he keeps the starfigher corps flying, trains new pilots to replace the ones they’ve lost, completes the missions assigned to him. Does all he can do in defence of the Republic and the Resistance.</p><p>And hopes that Finn will wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Phew. This has been a journey and a half, writing this. What started as a couple of scenes and a loose idea that they could all be strung together morphed into a bit of a monster by the end. Ostensibly, this sort of functions as a Poe between The Force Awakens and Episode VIII but I’m sure it’ll get jossed by whatever Episode VIII actually is.
> 
> The title is taken from The Wailin’ Jennies song [Starlight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhQmyQdRDTg), which I highly recommend listening too; it forms the backbone of this fic.
> 
> My endless thanks to my wonderful beta [Alex](http://imblindmattmurdock.tumblr.com/), who fixed sentences and removed errant commas and made this thing much more pleasant to read, in addition to giving wonderful feedback, and everyone else who cast an eye over part of it; you guys are fab!
> 
> And a quick note to say that the tags are for the fic as a whole (which is finished! will be posting gradually though), and if you'd like to chat to me about anything you can hit me up on [tumblr.](http://drinkupthesunrise.tumblr.com)

In the immediate aftermath of the destruction of the Starkiller Base, Poe runs on elation and worry in equal measure. He saw the Millennium Falcon clear Starkiller but that doesn’t mean anything. Anyone could be on that ship, in any state. Poe considers hailing them, but he’s too busy ordering the jump to hyperspace and getting his pilots out of there, before Starkiller Base implodes, to really give it much thought.

Back on the surface of D’Qar things do not get better. The losses suffered by the Starfighter Corps are more apparent when Poe sees the empty bays of the birds that failed to return. Poe doesn’t worry about command, or propriety, just runs to where the Falcon has just pulled up. Standing in the crowd, he sees the bay doors open, and a couple of medics rush up. They are out again in barely a blink of an eye and they have someone on a stretcher and that person is Finn and Poe is going with them, running alongside them, muscling in to try and clasp at Finn. “He knows me, he’ll know my voice,” Poe says to the nearest member of medical personnel, who isn’t pleased about his intrusion. “Finn, buddy, hey, stay with us.” Poe grasps Finn’s hand. It is cold; too cold, no sign of blood pulsing through it as there should be. Is that just exposure to the harsh surface of Starkiller, or is it a sign of things being much much worse?

The fact that Finn is responsive is about the only thing that’s keeping Poe from going spare. He’s slipping in and out, eyes flickering and there is an occasional grunt of pain that escapes his lips. It’s a sound that Poe never wants to hear again. The medics are talking – pulse dropping, blood pressure, burns, nerve damage – but Poe can’t focus on that. He can just see what is before him, and that is Finn, in pain, injured fighting for a girl he barely knew and a cause he doesn’t quite believe in.

There are more staff on hand when they hit the medbay, who immediately ask for vital signs. Dr Kalonia sweeps in, takes one look at him and declares “Surgery now. Have General Organa on stand by – we may need some extra heft.” The crew moves, and Kalonia looks around, before yelling. “And someone see if we can squirrel up some Bacta!”

Poe wants to go with them. He tries. He knows there isn’t Bacta to be had – they’ve been out for a week now, waiting for a new supply line to present itself. Finn will have to do his healing himself, and Poe wants to be there. But he is held back by Nurse Eeshé, Kalonia’s second, who issues a firm threat that if Poe does not leave she will strap him down in one of the beds and make his life a living hell.

So he steps back, out of the medical bay and into the base. Realises that there is nothing he can do. His stomach rumbles, a grim reminder of how long it’s been since he had food (and a shower, and a rest, and all that goes along with the decent things in life). It takes him a while to get to the mess. It’s got out that Poe fired the final shot that took down Starkiller, and every other person wants to pass on their congratulations and thanks. When he finally reaches it, it’s full and there is a party underway. Poe has no desire to join in. Exhaustion floods every part of his body, so he just grabs a tray and sweet talks the staff into letting him walk out with it.

He wolfs down the food with a hunger that surprises himself. When there are only crumbs left on the plate, he hoists himself up and decides that he really could use a shower. Off to the communal freshers he goes. He stands surrounded by a comforting fall of warmth, and finally lets the tension of the past week go. Here, every sin and piece of damage is washed off his body and into the drainage system below. The bruises on his ribs seem less pronounced, and they certainly hurt less. He stands there for far longer than he knows he should, waiting for everything to hit him. It doesn’t. Eventually he pulls himself out, towels himself off – his hair will be worse for it in the morning but in the moment he can’t bring himself to care.

He goes back to his bunk, grateful that he doesn’t pass anyone on the way. The base on D’Qar is cramped, but his status as commander has given him the privilege of his own room, tucked away at the end of the pilots’ communal corridor. He still hasn’t gone through debrief, but at this point it seems irrelevant. If it was desperate, someone from command would have sought him out. As it is, they likely have bigger problems. So he should sleep, catch up on almost a week’s worth of lost rest, where he’d survived by catching an hour or two of shuteye here or there.

But he can’t. No matter that every fibre of his being is flooded with exhaustion, broken under the weight of his experiences, he can’t seem to get his brain to kick out of gear and shut down. He lies awake in his bunk, tossing and turning, trying all the old tricks. People joke that insomnia is a pilot’s constant companion, and Poe knows it well. He must have been there for a good two hours when BB-8 rolls back into his room. Goodness knows where that little droid has been, but it takes one look at Poe and starts chirping what passes for a lullaby in binary.

This is the one thing that works. Even then, it takes Poe fifteen minutes of listening to the bizarre chirps and whistles before he feels his limbs go slack and his eyes closing and finally; the sweet serenity of nothingness.

He wakes up later, feeling rested but not great. He checks his watch; he probably got about four hours in all. Which is better than he’s gotten in the last week. Still, he could stand to get a bit more. But no more sleep comes, and when D’Qar’s dawn starts to peep at the edges of the window in Poe’s quarters, he abandons all thoughts of any more rest.

He goes through his morning routine in a desolate base, grabbing a strong cup of caf from the mess before he starts thinking what to do with the day. Central Command will want to see him, but they won’t want him now, before anyone’s up. He decides to head for the Hangar Bay to start assessing the repairs that will be needed to the Starfighter Corps.

He’s not the first to think of it though. The bay doors are open, lights on, and it shouldn’t surprise Poe that someone else from his crew couldn’t sleep either. He is surprised, though, when Snap pops out from behind one of the X-Wings. “Poe,” he says, with a quick wave.

“Morning Snap,” Poe replies. “Any news?”

“Not much. The General took us down to Condition Three last night. Most people are taking advantage of that fact and catching up on some much needed sleep.” Snap shrugs, as if the concept is nonsense. “Cobalt are running a CAP. Statura’s got the deck. Hasn’t said anything about orders though.”

“We’ll get them.” Jess Pava walks up, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn. “Come on Commander, what have you got for us?” BB-8 is beside her, beeping agreement.

“Scouting the Hosnian System, right?” Fialsha appears behind Jess, and kneels to stroke the top of BB-8’s head. Apparently, most of Poe’s pilots have declared rest an unnecessary luxury. “I know we’ve had contacts calling in saying that it was completely destroyed, but no one from the Resistance has got eyes on the wreckage.”

Fialsha is right. They should have been there straight after the System was obliterated, but there hadn’t been enough time. “The Hosnian System it is. Who else is awake?”

“I’ve seen Teffer up. Nien Nunb knows better, and medical kept J’Chala overnight,” Snap says. He catches Poe’s concern, and adds, “Xie’s fine, as far as I know.”

“Right,” Poe says. “Four X-Wings it is. Get ready to move out, and Jess, let Teffer know where we’re off to.” Poe know he’s putting poor Teffer in the line of fire when Command find he’s launched an unauthorised recon op. On the other hand, he doesn’t think they’ll be too mad. This would have come up; Poe’s just edged it up the priority list a bit.

Everyone does as he asks. The Resistance being a skeleton crew, all the pilots know how to run cold starts without support from ground crew. Back in the Republic Navy, such a thing would be unheard of. Here in the Resistance, they do it half the times they fly.

Poe is the last one in, BB-8 chivvying all the way. He walks through the T-70 launch sequence without thinking, and joins the others in formation above D’Qar. “Pilots, call in,” he says as he prepares for the jump to hyperspace.

“Blue Leader, standing by,” Snap says.

“Blue Three, standing by,” Jess says.

“Red Seven, standing by,” Fialsha says. “Black Leader, are we flying via the Naboo Trade Routes or the Pth’Qué pass?”

Poe checks BB-8’s calculations. “Pth’Qué pass, Red Seven. That alright with you?”

“A-okay, Black Leader.”

“Everyone, prepare for the jump to Hyperspace. T-Minus two minutes.” It shouldn’t take that long for everyone to prep, but Poe wants to give them time. Fialsha’s sans astromech, as usual, which means she’ll need to adjust her co-ordinates. She’s able to calculate hyperspace routes in her head, a skill which the human brain isn’t capable of. Late nights on base have involved timing her against a droid, often with six shots of alcohol in her system. She usually beats them.

“Ready, Black Leader,” Snap signs off. Jess agrees, and then Fialsha calls in. They’re good to go.

Hyperspace is Poe’s least favourite thing about flying. He knows that there are pilots who like it, delight in crafting intricate runs through systems, but he isn’t one of them. Luckily, it isn’t far to the Hosnian System, but the air is as stale as Snap and Jess’s jokes by the time they exit Hyperspace.

And come into a massive debris field.

It shouldn’t be surprising. Poe has read reports of the aftermath of the destruction of Alderaan, from Solo and Skywalker and the pilots who scouted the wreckage. This is worse. It wasn’t just one planet but seven. Billions of lives gone. The leadership of the New Republic, devastated.

Poe makes a sharp turn to avoid an asteroid sized piece of debris. It’s impossible to tell what it once was. “Black Leader to all ships, watch out. Anyone got anything on their instruments?”

BB-8 is whirring away behind Poe, pointing out the number of ships in the system. “I’ve got friendly contacts,” Pava says.

“Life signs seem to be limited to concentrations of ships,” Snap adds. “I wanna get a closer look at some of these debris fields though, the scanners are practically useless out here.”

“Copy that Blue Leader. Blue Three, go with him, see if you can find anything. Red Seven, you’re with me.”

“Yes sir,” Fialsha says, with resignation in her voice.

Poe switches to a private channel. “You okay, Red Seven?”

“Eleven point four seven three billion people were registered as being in the Hosnian System when it was destroyed,” Fialsha says. Which is a lot of people. Poe hadn’t looked up the numbers for precisely that reason. It was bad enough that he could list dozens of people he’d known who’d likely been killed. “It’s just a lot to take in, Black Leader, I’m fine.”

“Keep your head in the game, Red Seven,” Poe says. “And stay close.”

Poe flies to the largest cluster of life signs, in the opposite direction of Snap and Pava. There’s a Republic Starcruiser there, along with a fleet of smaller ships – X-Wings and A-Wings – that are buzzing about, likely doing recon. But they aren’t the only ones there. There’s at least a dozen smuggling vessels zipping through the system, making operations to retrieve the valuable resources left behind.

The Republic Vessel hails them. “Shining Krestala, this is Commander Poe Dameron of the Resistance. I have three pilots with me. Red Seven is flying my wing, and Blue Leader and Blue Three are flying recon through the debris field of Hosnian II. We’re happy to provide any assistance you deem necessary whilst we are here.”

Whoever is leading the ship thankfully doesn’t think that the Resistance are the scum of the earth, and is glad of Poe’s help. Half the Republic ships are on recovery – there have been survivors found, amongst the wreckage, but their numbers barely scrape a hundred, each one a miracle – while the other half are on the defencive, trying to guard the remnants of the Republic against those who choose to scavenge from it. Poe learns that the leader of the fleet was on Hosnian VI when it was destroyed, and fleet command has been scrambling ever since. But the Republic is determined to go on.

Poe’s not sure how they can. But he was never a politician; he’ll leave that to Leia. He joined the Resistance because he was sick of Republic politics. He isn’t alone. In the first two hours, he receives three offers of defection. He’s not serious when he asks Brigadier General Khim if he can have them. But Khim happily hands them and their ships over. Poe leaves the system with six pilots following him instead of three and thinks he should just accept that his life is ridiculous.

Pava and Snap keep a constant stream of chatter going as they head back to D’Qar. BB-8 has their service records tucked away, and Poe has glanced over them (just to ensure that he wasn’t making the wrong decision). But General Organa will have the final say.

When they are back in Resistance Space, on the edge of the Ileenium System, Poe gets a message over the private channel. “Black Leader, this is D’Qar, please come in.” Poe can’t identify which of the junior techs it is, but they sound exasperated. “And please identify your guests.”

Poe does so. The next voice on the line is Major Brance, who informs him that command will be on the tarmac to greet him. Which is no less than Poe expected, given the stunt he’d pulled, and the guests he’d brought back. He gives the order for Snap to begin their descent, and forwards the Republic pilots details onto air traffic so they can be talked through the descent.

C-3PO is the first face Poe sees as he climbs out of his X-Wing and shucks his helmet. Goss Toower comes forward to inspect his ship, while Threepio blabbers about unwise decisions. Poe ignores him, looking beyond for someone of actual responsibility. He spots General Organa and Admiral Statura a little way off.

“General,” Poe says, snapping off a salute. The Republic Pilots turn and snap quickly to attention when they realise the tiny lady approaching is the General.

“Dameron,” she says, with a knowing look. “Some day, we’re going to talk about your new found propensity for bringing back strays.” Poe has the decency to look abashed. “For now, with me. Captain, Lieutenants.” She looks to the three behind Poe. “Admiral Statura here will see your inductions.”

Leia walks off and Poe knows better than to ask if he should be following her. He hears Statura talking in his low stern voice, and wonders if the Republic recruits will think better of signing up for the Resistance. He hopes they don’t. The Resistance needs new people. And whatever happens, they can’t do worse than the last person Poe brought to the Resistance.

Who, last time Poe looked, was in surgery as the doctors fought to repair wounds caused by a lightsaber. “General,” Poe says. “How’s Finn?”

.

The night on D’Qar is still. A heavy blanket of cloud has descended, blocking the stars that usually shine in their multitudes above the canopy of trees. Not that anyone is looking at the sky; most of the Resistance are catching up on some much needed rest, and the few who remain are on watch, working hard for the new day. The corridors are quiet, and most are at peace.

Not Poe Dameron. He’s sought refuge in the medbay, pulling an uncomfortable chair up beside Finn’s bed and refusing to leave. Dr Kalonia had humphed, and Poe had feared for a moment that she might kick him out, make him leave, but she must have caught something - desperation in his eyes, a plea that he needed this, needed to know that Finn was safe and he’d got off the Finalizer and he was still alive - and let him be. She’s weaving around Poe now, making her final checks of the night. A med-droid whirs behind her, a comforting noise to Poe, who’s spent his adult life surrounded by the buzz of droids.

“Heart rate steady, final dosage administered. Could you just run a quick diagnostic two-one-bee?” Kalonia’s muttering, but Poe isn’t paying that much attention, too busy clasping Finn’s hand like a lifeline. “That’s good. He’ll be fine throughout the night. Take care of yourself, Dameron.”

Poe does look up at the sound of his name, only to see Kalonia already gone through the door, and General Organa standing in her place. “General,” he says, inclining his head as a measure of respect. He’s a little surprised to see her. Not because it’s above her to be in the medical bay, but because she’s already been by several times. She’s looked in on every soldier who was injured on the attack on Starkiller’s base, and has visited Finn a number of times. She’s the leader of the Resistance; she has better things to do than sit at injured soldiers bedsides.

“Poe.” The General returns his nod. She’s still waiting by the door. Poe isn’t sure whether he should invite her in. Is she waiting for something? A moment later Kalonia reappears with a folding chair and hands it over, and then Leia finally enters Finn’s room. Poe’s on his feet, moving his chair over and taking hers from her hands and setting it up for her. She shakes her head but smiles, good natured about it. Poe mumbles something about Shara and good manners, and Leia supposes she can’t really complain that his parents taught him well.

He sits back down once he’s done, hand instinctively reaching to grasp at Finn’s again. Leia gets a good look at him for the first time since they discovered Luke’s location. Three days of scruff on his cheeks, dark bags under his eyes, weariness in his limbs. The slightly paranoid way he’s watching her, like she’s going to ask him to leave on a mission, and that he couldn’t quite bear it. She thinks about asking when the last time he slept was, but realises he doesn’t deserve the indignity of the question. Of course he hasn’t been sleeping. Leia took Poe’s debrief after he got off the Finalizer, and knows that wasn’t the half of it. She’d be more worried about him if he was sleeping peacefully.

“I just thought I’d let you know,” Leia starts. “I’ve had word from Stiletto Squadron. They’ll be returning from their supply run tomorrow, and Captain Kun informs me she’s found a fresh supply of Bacta.”

“Karé’s coming back?”

Poe can’t help the relief that seeps into his voice. Karé is one of his oldest friends, and it’s been weeks since she and Stiletto Squadron were on base. The extra pilots will go a long way to bolstering the roster, and Karé will go a long way to strengthening his own resolve.

Leia can’t help but smile. Poe’s joy is infectious, it always has been, even over something as small as this. “She’ll be back with us, yes. That always was the plan. I needed someone who could keep the Starfighter Corps together while my best pilot went to drag my brother out of his blasted exile.”

Poe nods, like this was a sensible idea, then frowns. “Wait. Did she know about this? Because I don’t want to tell Karé that she’s suddenly out of job. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Leia laughs. She won’t deny that Karé Kun can certainly cut an imposing figure when she wants to – she’s the tallest Starfighter pilot in the corps, and has the glare to back it up – but given that Poe’s been her commanding officer for years now, he probably shouldn’t be scared of her.

“There’s enough room on this base for the both of you,” Leia says. “And no shortage of jobs to be done.”

“We might have won the battle but we haven’t won the war.” Poe turns Finn’s hand over, taking it in both hands, running a thumb over the back of it. “The First Order will be back. We’ll need a new base. We need new pilots. The Republic will need rebuilding, and the Resistance will have to step in.”

“We can’t afford to wait for my brother to decide he wants to participate in this fight. Or for Rey to convince him.”

Leia’s words aren’t… bitter is the wrong word. There’s a harsh edge to them, the words of a woman who has never been in awe of Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, but there’s a resignation about them too. An admittance that Luke’s choices are his own, and even as his twin Leia can’t make them for him. And grief, that too, for the lives they’ve lost that might have been saved if only they had the last Jedi on their side.

“Between you and me, I’m really glad that I don’t have to go and find him,” Poe says softly. It’s clear to him in that moment. He has nothing to say to convince Luke to come back, has no words to convince the man that he is needed. Rey does; she’s incredible, a force of nature that stepped out of the desert and rescued BB-8, and Finn, then faced down Kylo Ren on his own turf and won. Poe didn’t spend his childhood dreaming of Jedi. He spent it in admiration of Leia Organa, who’d fought a war and won it and then continued fighting to build a new world that represented all that they fought for. “I don’t know what I’d have said to him. Hey, you recruited my mother for a mission one time and gave her a force sensitive tree that I grew up under, and your sister is really mad at you so can you please come back so she doesn’t kick my ass for failing this mission?” Poe sighs. “I’m not convinced that would work. Now Pava – she’s been thinking for years what she’d say to him. She’s have made a good choice.”

“You’d have done fine,” Leia says, quick off the mark. Poe doesn’t need to beat himself up anymore for any of his perceived failings, even though she understands what he means about this situation in particular. She has no idea what she could say to him to bring him home, either. She’d failed, years earlier, to convince him to stay. “You don’t mind that Rey’s taken your mission?”

“That girl’s already making a habit of finishing of my missions. Besides, I think this one was always hers, really. And now you can devise something equally fiendish and more benefiting of my talents.”

“What do you want to do now?”

Poe looks at her, mouth slightly open, like he doesn’t quite understand the question. “Whatever I’m needed to do,” he replies, with the ease of a man who handed his life, heart and soul over to Leia Organa’s keeping a long time ago.

“I asked what you wanted to do,” Leia says firmly. “What you need is two weeks medical leave, far away from this place, but you won’t go and I can’t spare you. So I’m going to ask you again. What do you want?”

Poe stares at her for a moment, before turning away, ducking his head and clutching onto Finn even tighter than before. “What I want is for Finn to wake up, for him to have never been injured in the first place. For the First Order to not have blown up the Hosnian system, not only killing billions of people, but destroying our entire system of government. I’d have liked not to see an entire village of people slaughtered in front of me. But that’s not going to happen.” His voice wobbles, and he clenches his jaw shut, trying not to break. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped an octave and is impossibly soft. “I want Finn to know he’s wanted. That he’ll wake up safe and know that there are people who will always be there for him.”

“He will,” Leia says, with absolute certainty. “You and Rey, you’ve already proved that. Between the pair of you, you’ve barely left his side.”

Rey’s only not here tonight because she’s been convinced that she needs a good night of rest before she leaves tomorrow, and Poe has dutifully taken up her place.

“But she’s leaving, and then it’ll just be me—”

“Poe, look at me.” Leia’s tone is soft, remembering the agony of the months where Han was trapped in carbonite and she was still trying to figure out what he meant to her. It’s a difficult thing to do, one sided, especially when one has other things to be dealing with; Poe seems to be having the same problem. “Do you want to stay with him? I can take you off rotation, Karé can be the STAC, we can guarantee that you’ll be here when he wakes up.”

Poe seems to seriously consider it for a moment, and Leia thinks about how on earth she’d actually cope without her best pilot. But she’d always planned on losing him to the wild bantha chase to find Luke, so she’d make it work. Somehow.

“No.” Poe shakes his head, his eyes soft with a grief that pains Leia. “I’d go mad in a week, you know that. My place is in a cockpit, and you need me in it. I’m not about to shirk my duties.”

He reminds Leia so much of his mother. She’d known Shara Bey well, running missions with the woman after the Battle of Endor, until one of Shara’s squadron members had filed her retirement papers to get her out of the service and home to her son. Poe has given himself piece by piece to the Resistance, to the point where Leia has wondered how there could be anything left of him; how he isn’t a broken shell of a man inside a body no longer his own.

“We’ll work something out,” Leia says, a hand on Poe’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Poe says, looking up at her, before focusing his gaze straight back down on Finn.

“You know we’ll look after him,” Leia says, after a moment. “Whether you’re here or not. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

Poe smiles, though he doesn’t seem particularly reassured. Possibly because within hours he’s going to be the only person left on base who Finn ever made a meaningful connection to; because Han is dead and Rey is leaving and Poe doesn’t really know how to be there for someone, to be their everything, and he knows that Leia doesn’t either.

“Yeah,” Poe mutters. “You hear that, Finn? General Organa just promised that you’d be okay. And we don’t want to make a liar of the General, right?” He looks at Leia, and she smiles, and Poe finally starts to think; maybe it all will be okay.

.

The next morning, Rey flies out in the Millennium Falcon to find Luke Skywalker, and the next afternoon, Stiletto Squadron fly back in.

Poe’s there with the crowd to greet them. Karé swaggers out of her X-Wing with the grace of a woman who knows she’s done a good job. “One shipment of Bacta, as requested,” she says, as Lieutenant Yaffa Bleck – Karé’s second – wheels it out of the transport. Kalonia, there for the express purpose of receiving the shipment, takes it with open hands and marches it straight on down to sick bay.

“Many thanks, Captain Kun,” General Organa says. “I’ll take your debrief later. For now, just get your pilots settled.”

She gives Poe a knowing look, before leaving. And then the upper brass is gone, and it’s just pilots and ground crew left on the flight deck. Poe feels no shame in walking over to Karé and falling into the open arms she offers. “I’m really glad you’re back,” Poe says, thankful that his oldest friend is there. Karé holds him close, and even though she bears the dirt and grime of weeks spent on the move and in an X-Wing cockpit, Poe finds he doesn’t care.

He helps her sort through the chaos, stands by her side as she signs the supplies over to the quartermaster, as she dismisses her pilots and tells them all to hit the freshers and get some rest. They all nod in relief and break off into factions, vanishing remarkably quickly. Snap waves off Karé’s efforts to help with the last of the paperwork. “I’ll handle it,” he says. “You go get yourself cleaned up. I’ll see you later.”

He waves off Poe’s help too, when Poe offers it. So Poe retreats back to his quarters. There’s a small pile of shipping boxes in the corner, half full of the effects of some of his lost pilots. He’d taken out twenty four starfighter pilots, a full two squadrons, and had returned with only six following his lead. He supposes it could have been worse – the first Death Star run, of the two squadrons of X-Wing pilots sent out, only two had returned alive, and that had been a very near thing. But his pilots were still people, and they gave their lives defending everything they believed in, and Poe now had the task of writing condolence letters to their families, explaining what their sacrifices mean. (Though not all of them have next-of-kin to receive the letters. Poe had checked the records, and made the unfortunate discovery that two of his pilots only had each other listed as their next of kin. He’ll write the letters anyway, because it’s important, but they’ll never get sent.)

As the leader of Blue Squadron, Snap has taken the responsibility for his pilots’ effects. But the leader of Red Squadron, a Captain Los Stexan, was killed in the attack on Starkiller base. So Poe has taken the responsibility on his own shoulders, of rooting through the possessions of his friends and deciding what can be recycled and what should be sent back to their families. He knows that in the Alliance, effects of lost pilots were often auctioned off – it was usually too dangerous to consider returning any of them, something that isn’t true now – and wonders how on earth that could have worked, how anyone could stand looking at everything they owned, constantly reminded of those who’d owned it before.

Poe shakes his head. That way lies only melancholy. He has work to do, and that means packaging these things up properly, to make it look like he hasn’t dealt with nine other people’s effects at the same time.

He loses himself in it, as the stack of loose boxes becomes tight packages bearing the official seal of the Resistance, in selecting the items he thinks his pilots will want their families to have. He doesn’t realise how late it’s gotten until Karé knocks on his door, dressed in her officer browns. “It’s dusk,” she says. “You are coming, right?”

Poe nods. He hadn’t realised the time. That evening, they were holding a memorial to all who died taking down Starkiller Base. “Give me a minute,” he says. He’s in his undershirt and a pair of BDU pants, not suitably dressed at all. The funny thing was, just that morning he’d been wearing his officer’s uniform to see Rey off, and now he has to find where he tossed the darned tunic and belt. Karé comes up trumps, tossing them at him, and then turning around to allow him some dignity in putting them on. He fiddles self-consciously with the collar, still unused to it.

Now ready, he and Karé leave and join the crowds of people heading down to the lake. The sun has dipped low in the sky, providing just enough light to guide their way, but D’Qar’s moon is already a fixture, hanging high in the sky. The journey takes them through the forest, down a pebbled path. Others were here earlier building the requisite pyres. There’s already a significant crowd gathering as Karé and Poe step into the clearing on the shore of the lake. Snap stands with the remnants of Red and Blue squadrons, Jessika Pava standing awkward and upright at his side, just as uncomfortable in her dress uniform as Poe is. The Bridge Officers are gathering under the watchful eyes of Major Brance. Engineering have claimed a patch all to themselves. Poe wonders if they’ve rigged any fireworks, as they haven been known to do in the past. Karé’s squad are slowly filtering through the crowd, clapping hands on shoulders with that curious mix of grief and relief soldiers feel when they weren’t there to die.

Finally, the sun dips clear below the horizon, leaving them standing in the dark. A silence falls, the gentle murmurings of conversation dying away. Poe’s keen eyes spot a couple of flecks of light in the distance, coming from the direction of the main base. They weave through the underbrush of the forest, almost invisible. Then General Organa steps out of the forest, a picture in white, hair pulled high and into a single braid down her back. Like she’d stood for the ceremony on Yavin IV, thirty-five years ago. But now she is flanked by two different men. Admiral Statura and Admiral Ackbar are a step behind her, and each of the three carries a lit torch.

As she passes, each member of the Resistance bows their head. Poe looks at her and thinks – this is why Lor San Tekka had still called her Princess. She is impossibly regal in that moment, knowing the weight it lends to the proceedings. She halts in front of the main pyre, built up almost as tall as she is. “Tonight we honour those who have fallen protecting the Galaxy against the evils that would seek to destroy it,” she says, voice solemn and grave and stark over the silence. “As our Starfighter Corps fought in the skies above the Starkiller, one of our pilots said the following: as long as there’s still light, we have a chance. I would ask that you remember that. We must never let our hope be extinguished.”

She lowers her torch to the wood and the flame takes hold, ripping through the pyre with a sudden force. The warmth it brings is immediate; the light is welcome. A moment later Statura and Ackbar do the same and two secondary pyres light, a trio burning fiercely on the lake shores.

Statura speaks next. “We invite you to remember the dead. Whether they fell fighting for what they believed in, or were just casualties who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Lor San Tekka,” Ackbar says. “Dasha Promenti. Ilco Munica.” He starts listing names, unfamiliar to most but not to Poe. They are the villagers who were slaughtered at Tuanul.

“Korr Sella.” Statura takes over the litany. “Lanevar Villecham. Nahani Gillen. Thadlé Berenko. Brasmon Kee.” On and on it goes, but it barely makes a dent in those who were killed. “Thanlis Depallo. Gadde Neshurrion. Andrithal Robb-Voti. Zygli Bruss.”

“Han Solo,” Leia says.

A moment of silence falls, no one wanting to follow Leia’s declaration. But Poe knows no fear. “Los Stexan,” he says. “Ello Asty. Quella Nishti.”

“Jan Novik,” Snap says. “Cliar Rabblo.”

Jess takes up the next lot of pilots names, then Fialsha, Nien Nunb, J’Chala, Teffer. Others join in, speaking the names of those they’d known on the Hosnian System, until the air is buzzing with indistinguishable names. So many dead. But they are still alive to remember them. Karé moves in close, and grips Poe’s hand tight. She must know the same thing Poe does. Had it not been for Finn and a couple of incredible pieces of luck, she would be speaking his name aloud this night, and that’s terrifying. Poe skirted death by a millimetre. He squeezes her hand back and flexes the fingers on the other side, reaching for someone who isn’t there. (Iolo has been away for two months, intelligence gathering under deep cover. He’s not expected to return anytime soon.) Death has been part of Poe’s life for so long now, that he forgets that there are still people who would feel his loss. But Karé is making it clear that she would.

The names die away, as people run out, of memories and of energy to speak aloud. But the wake is not ready for silence, not yet. Karé looks at him and Poe knows what he has to do.

 _[I have come back to you broken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhQmyQdRDTg)_ he sings, low but clear. Karé answers him with a clear and sweet voice _take me home_. A choir of voices ring out, taking up the well worn words with familiarity and comfort, singing _and my body bears this trouble; take me home._

It’s an old song. No one knows where it first originated, but it was popularised by refugees fleeing Coruscant in the early days of the Empire. It was taken up by the Rebel Alliance, and now the Resistance uses it as an anthem. It’s easy to sing. Those who don’t know the whole thing can easily pick up the answering _take me home_ , the melody easy enough for those who can’t manage basic to add their own words to it. Poe remembers his mother humming it as a lullaby, and his father tutting at the misappropriation of the song.

None of that really matters. The origin of the song isn’t important, just the meaning it has now. The entirety of the Resistance, standing on the shores of a lake, singing their hearts out in memory of their fallen colleagues.

Voices fall away at the third verse, leaving Karé and Poe to sing clear above the rest. She takes the first line this time, _now the bells stand still and hollow_ , letting everyone answer her, and Poe responds, in a low voice: _and no one has come to mourn me, take me home._

Everyone chimes back in, letting voices soar, splitting into natural harmonies as they repeat the chorus. _Hallowed be these frozen fields and every single one of us still left in want of mercy; take us home._

If the dead do hear the living, then one can only hope that the testament of the hundreds of voices, raised together in memory, reaches them. And as the last note fades away, the pillars of fire still burn, light reflecting up off the mirrored surface of the lake.

The Resistance remembers their dead with pride.


	2. Chapter 2

Poe wakes up the next morning with Karé’s sharp elbow in his back. He extracts himself from his bunk carefully; she just rolls over, groans, and traps herself in the blanket. Years of flying with her have taught him not to disturb her in the morning, so he grabs a change of clothes and sneaks off to the communal refreshers down the hall.

A quick stop by the mess for breakfast – eating is important, as many people have reminded him recently – and then he goes to the medical bay. The med-droids aren’t big on his continued presence there, but BB-8 has had stern words with them, so they don’t bother him as he weaves through the corridors to the room where Finn usually is.

“Commander Dameron,” someone says, and Poe turns on his heels towards the voice. Dr Kalonia is standing across the hallway. “We moved Finn yesterday.”

“Is he alright?” Poe asks. He’d seen Finn’s wounds, seen the med staff bickering in the aftermath about how much they should be moving him.

“He’s fine,” Dr Kalonia replies, moving across the way and beckoning Poe to follow her. He jogs to keep up, following her quick pace. “We got him in the Bacta that Captain Kun managed to secure yesterday, and it’s done him well. He’s still in a coma,” she says; even though she’s not facing him she must be able to sense the hope rising in Poe’s face. “We’re keeping him under. The more healing he does like this the less painful things will be when he wakes. Give it a couple of days and we’ll try to bring him round. Until then, you are just going to be in our way.”

Poe nods. He knows that medical have been lenient with him, that he owes them significantly more co-operation than he’s ever given them. “Can I see him?”

“Yes.” Kalonia sighs, deep and resigned. She indicates a door. “He’s in there.”

Poe gives her his most charming smile. She’s impervious to it, but he feels he owes it to her anyway. She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath that Poe doesn’t catch because he’s too busy opening the door.

“Hey Finn,” he says, voice low and gentle like he’s afraid that Finn will wake up if he speaks too loud. “How you doing, buddy?”

There’s a chair set up beside Finn’s bed. Crisp white sheets folded with military precision at the corners. Machines that are monitoring all of Finn’s vital signs. An IV that is pumping fluid and drugs and nutrients into his system. He looks still, peaceful; face no longer twisted in pain like it had been when he was brought off the Millennium Falcon.

“Yeah, Bacta’s good shit.” Poe gives Finn an easy smile, settling into the chair that has thoughtfully been moved with Finn. “So, Rey’s gone – off to find Luke Skywalker, but she probably told you that. Meanwhile, Stiletto Squadron are back, which means Karé’s back. I’ve told you about her, right? I’ve flown with her since I was in the Republic Navy.”

Poe prattles on, aware of just how meaningless his talk is. There’s no real evidence to suggest Finn can hear him, but Poe’s heard enough stories about coma patients who wake and swear that they did hear everything that went on around them. If there’s a chance, he’ll take it. That’s the sort of man he is. He must spend an hour in there, telling Finn all about his time with Rapier Squadron. Eventually he runs out of things to say.

So he leaves. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, but his feet carry him to the hangar bay automatically. He should probably check on how his pilots are, anyway, and catch up with all the members of Stiletto Squadron. A good number of them are about, with flight suits tied around waists, tinkering with X-wing configurations. For Karé’s crew, this will be their first opportunity to check in with their birds and fix any problems that may have come up. At the watch station set up in the corner, Snap has a headset on, watching a display screen.

Poe heads over. A glance at the display screen reveals that Jess Pava is in the air, along with Yaffa Bleck. “Running drills?” Poe asks, as Bleck’s dot darts back and forth across the screen. Knowing her, she’s probably running circles around Jess.

“Just patrol for now,” Snap responds. “Stiletto are in good shape, Karé knows how to keep her pilots in line. Once they get the squadrons re-organised we’ll be thrown into it, but there isn’t any word on what we’re doing. I presume we are reorganising?”

Poe shrugs. “So do I. Moving up some of the reserves from Cobalt, or something. But that’s mine and the General’s and Admiral Ackbar’s problem.”

“Yeah.” Snap claps Poe on the shoulder. “Better you than me.”

.

He spends the rest of the morning in the hangar, chatting with the pilots. The hangar feels a lot less empty than it did a day ago; the addition of Stiletto Squadron has helped a lot. Poe throws himself into working, pulling parts out of X-Wings and covering himself in grease. Karé had run her pilots hard to get the Bacta shipment home in time for it to do some good, which means a couple of the ships are running less than optimally. Poe sees it as only fair that he helps fix them, and he enjoys the work, tinkering with configurations until the ships purr smoothly again.

Around midday Karé appears, sidling up to Poe and draping herself over him. “That power regulator’s got corrupted socket joints. Just replace it, it’ll be easier,” she says.

“It can be fixed,” Poe asserts, through gritted teeth. He’s spent half an hour trying to cajole it back into life. It might be a dead cause.

“Later.” Karé takes the tool out of his hands. “General Organa’s requested to see you.”

Poe’s expected it, so he’s not exactly surprised. On the other hand, this isn’t the best time; he’s covered in grease and is so close to cracking this problem that the idea of having to leave it and go away is physically painful. But he’s never denied the General anything, so he wipes his hands off on a cloth and goes to see her.

She’s in her office, staring at the system map when Poe enters. “Captain Kun said you wanted to see me?” Poe says.

“Yes,” Leia says. “Sit. Have you had lunch yet?”

Poe shakes his head; Leia calls C-3PO in and asks him to go and fetch food for the pair of them. Poe’s appreciative. He’d have probably forgotten to eat otherwise. While she’s doing that Poe gets a good look at the map, pinned above her desk. All the Resistance troops are marked, as are First Order and Republic territories. Green marks the Republic Fleet, what they know of it, and there are several systems highlighted. “Scouting for a new base?” Poe asks.

“D’Qar isn’t going to be safe for much longer. We need to be moving. Commander Celchu is bringing the Echo of Hope back, and Major Ematt is off to do reconnaissance on possible locations tomorrow morning. He’s requested that Captain Wexley accompany him.”

“I can’t spare Snap,” Poe says. “You know how low we are on experienced pilots. I can’t lose such an excellent squadron leader.”

“He’s also the best reconnaissance flier we have. Ematt needs two pilots. Snap will be one of them. It’s up to you who else you lose from the rota.” Leia looks at him sympathetically. “I know this is a lot. But this is where people are needed.”

Poe considers for a moment. “I’ll send Fialsha. The experience will be good for her, and her knowledge of Hyperspace routes will be useful to Major Ematt.”

“Good.” Leia is pleased, and she strikes something off her datapad. “That’s that problem sorted. Now—” They’re interrupted by the return of C-3PO, and another droid, carrying food trays back from the mess. Leia quickly moves a couple of things off her desk to make room, and takes the trays off the droids hands. “Thanks, Threepio.” Poe hears a response, but he’s too fixated on the food to really hear it. Leia manages to get Threepio to leave in under a minute, which has to be a record. “Dig in,” she says, though Poe’s already well on his way to doing so. Leia eats too, more slowly that Poe does. Once it’s clear that they are both no longer ravenous, Leia speaks again. “About your lack of pilots…”

“I assume we’ll be moving reserves from Cobalt into Red and Blue,” Poe says, pushing his tray away.

“That’s a valid suggestion.” Leia says it in a tone which means she’s decided something else though. “We’re folding all existing Red Squadron pilots into Blue. Use Cobalt to fill out their ranks. Meanwhile, we haven’t seen the last of Republic defections - there are dozens of pilots who are clamouring to join a cause where they can actually do something. We obviously can’t take all of them, we don’t have the resources to do that. But we could assemble a new Red Squadron. Here.” She hands him a datapad. “Our three defectors who are already on base will be part of it, assuming they’re up to snuff.” Poe nods. They are, as far as he’s observed. “Pick nine more names off that list. They aren’t all former Republic - there’s some from planetary defence, a couple of smugglers. Turn them into a squad I can use.”

“Me?”

Poe’s eyes are wide with surprise.

“Who else?” Poe supposes that’s a good question. Los Stexan had typically been the one to handle new recruits, teaching them the requisite manoeuvres with a patience that no one else in the Resistance had. Of the rest of them with the skills to teach, Snap already has a mission, Karé and Jess both have tempers too hot to be successful, and Nien Nunb is often unintelligible in first meetings. Which means Poe really is the most qualified person to take on this job. “You said you’d do whatever was needed. This is what I need. Think of it as a vacation. You’ll be off combat duty.”

“Okay,” Poe says. “Twelve pilots, one squadron. I can do that.”

“Of course you can.” Leia smiles at him. “If you could pick them by the end of today, I’d appreciate it. Then I can give them orders to report to Moshmani.” Poe opens his mouth to object. “You’ll all be safer there. Get them trained up without any distractions. I have a feeling that we’ll be moving before too long, and that could prove unnecessarily disruptive. Besides.” Leia leans over, taking Poe’s hand. “Kalonia says that even with the Bacta, they’re going to keep Finn under for another three weeks. He won’t be waking up while you’re gone.”

Leia is right; but that doesn’t make the thought of leaving him behind any easier. Poe’s been on enough missions to know that things go wrong, that they often take longer than expected. Heck, just look at his last one.

“Choices on my desk by twenty-one-hundred, please, Commander Dameron.”

Poe sits up stiffly in his chair, pulls off a hasty salute. “Of course, General.”

.

Forty-eight hours later, Poe’s received confirmation from all nine pilots he selected that they’ll be reporting to Moshmani. Another couple of days and he’s busy preparing to ship out himself. Karé’s already taken over the STAC’s duties, so Poe’s at a loose end. BB-8 is sick of him tinkering with Black One, and had pushed him off to the med-bay.

Honestly, Poe always knew that he’d end up here. There was no way he was leaving without saying goodbye to Finn, even if his friend won’t know that he’s done so. He pushed Rey to do the same thing. So he and BB-8 end up back by Finn’s bedside, where they’ve spent many errant hours over the past two weeks. Poe lifts the medical chart off the end of Finn’s bed and settles in the spare chair that Kalonia hasn’t bothered moving. There’s been no change. Finn is still being kept in a medical coma, as the doctors work out just how to cure a lightsaber wound. Bacta is good but it isn’t a miracle cure.

There are notes on the chart, queries about some of his baselines, blood analyses they’ve done. It’s mostly nonsense to Poe, but he’s been in the medbay enough times to know what base human readings are. There is something off about Finn’s. But that is a concern for Kalonia and her team. Poe knows what he’s good at, and medical was never his speciality. He knows just enough to try and keep someone alive until he can drag them back to a medcentre, with no real desire to learn anything more.

He doesn’t have long to dwell on what it means, because a voice calls clear from the door. “Is this your rebel Stormtrooper?”

Poe lifts his head to see Karé resting against the door frame. She’s in civvies, but her flight jacket rests around her shoulders, her braided hair falling in stark contrast over it. Her face is difficult to read – her briefing when she came back would have included information on Finn, and the pilots have always been gossips, but Poe hasn’t managed to talk to her about Finn yet. And it’s one thing to hear about a Stormtrooper who betrayed every ounce of his programming and another to see the vulnerable man lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Her eyebrows are narrowed, and her mouth in a tight line, but her eyes are soft.

Poe doesn’t have an answer for her, but BB-8 does. They whistle an affirmative back at Karé: Finn is a hero of the Resistance. Poe furrows his eyebrows and ignores the twisty feeling in his gut. It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal, to let Karé in on this. It isn’t an intrusion.

“Thanks, BeeBee,” Karé says, with a lazy smile. “At least someone was listening.” She shoots a look over at Poe. Lesser men would have turned to stone from it. “Testor told me you were here,” Karé explains, filling the air with noise while she waits for Poe to get himself together enough to respond. “Or rather, that there was a 90% chance that if you weren’t on duty you’d be here. Even though I spoke to Kalonia and he’s not due to wake up for at least another three weeks.”

“I know,” Poe says. “They’ve still got him in a medical coma. The Bacta’s done a good job – thanks for that, by the way – but there’s a whole host of uncertainties. It’s been years since anyone saw a lightsaber wound.”

“His prognosis is good though,” Karé says with certainty. “With any luck he’ll be right as rain shortly. You’ll probably come back from your training exercises to find him awake and running the place.”

Poe isn’t comforted by that fact, letting out a slight groan. “What is it?” Karé asks.

“I promised the scavenger girl, Rey, that I wouldn’t let him wake up alone,” Poe explains, threading a hand through his hair. “She knew that she wouldn’t be here when he woke up. But I thought I would be, so I said I’d make sure he wasn’t alone. Even though Leia thinks I won't be gone that long, there’s little to no chance of it going to plan. I’m going to have to break that promise.”

“Poe,” Karé says, in that flat tone that indicates she’s not impressed with his decision. It’s the one she uses when he decides he wants to go on anything she terms a suicide mission. “Ask me.”

Poe looks into her dark eyes, momentarily confused, before he understands what Karé is telling him. “Will you make sure he doesn’t wake up alone?”

“Of course.” Karé is serious for a moment. Poe knows she means it. It won’t necessarily be that she’ll be here for Finn the moment he wakes up, but she’ll make sure he doesn’t spend his time in the med-bay in isolation, that he knows that Rey and Poe have left not because they wanted to, but because they have important things that need to be done. “’Sides, if I get to him first, I can tell him all your embarrassing stories without you being there to explain yourself. That’ll be fun.”

The expression of glee on Karé’s face should make Poe wary, but if that’s the price he has to pay, then that’s that. “Tell him what you want Karé. I’m sure most of those stories of me making an ass of myself also involve me saving the day.” She narrows an eyebrow at him. “Eventually,” he adds.

“Yes, and some of them involve explaining to the General why your X-Wing was full of Stakin-Flac foam after you and Iolo had a drunken karaoke war that got a little out of hand.” Poe sighs. She’s got him there.

“He’ll find it funny,” Poe says, looking over at Finn. Right now, there is not a jot of expression on his face, his features schooled into perfect neutrality. Poe sweeps a hand over Finn’s forehead. The fever he had in the early days has long since broken.

He turns back to Karé, who is watching him with a curious expression, mouth pursed in a way that suggests she’s biting back the urge to say something. She isn’t in the habit of mincing her words so Poe is concerned. “What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing of importance,” she says, and means that it is nothing Poe is ready to hear yet. She places a hand on Poe’s shoulder. “You be careful out there. And be good to the newbies. Get back soon. I’m not planning on holding the fort down for you forever.”

“Don’t feel up to the challenge of command?” Poe jokes.

Karé tosses her head. “Hardly. It’s the blasted paperwork. I thought Squadron Leader was a bad deal; it’s got nothing on this. So you listen to me, Poe. Get back soon so you can get back to being the STAC we all know and love, so when we finally wrench Iolo off his damn recon mission he and I can go and give the First Order hell.”

“You know, I think I’d rather see you fill paperwork for the rest of your days,” Poe says. Karé gives a menacing glare, and pushes at him, but Poe catches her with a smile. “Kidding. Kidding, Karé!” He protests as she bundles him off the chair and into the corner. “I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

“You better be,” Karé says, backing off him, then offering him a hand back up. “You’ve got people waiting on you now, Dameron.” She glances at Finn, undisturbed by the ruckus, and back at Poe in a meaningful way that says she knows exactly what Poe hasn’t admitted to himself yet.

“I know,” Poe replies. He rights the seat he was sitting in, picks up Finn’s medical charts from where they’ve fallen on the floor, and sits back down again. Karé hesitates for a moment, but she has said her piece, and leaves Poe alone, once again, in Finn’s medical room.

.

The Resistance has a small outpost on Moshmani – has for years, used it as a backup and a monitoring station and a training ground, whatever they need it to be that week. A small cabin, built to comfortably hold twenty but will hold forty to fifty in a pinch, located in the shadow of a mountain. Outside is a wide open plane, and Poe brings the starfighters in to land. There are a number of ships already there, the nine pilots who answered Poe’s recruitment call.

An ageing Twi’lek woman stands out front, arms folded, tutting in disapproval as Poe opens his fighter and leaps down. “Sloppy,” she says dismissively. “Though better than the rabble that have already arrived.”

“Hello Pollis’havera,” Poe says, enunciation precise, hoping that the pilots behind him are listening carefully. He’s never been there when someone has got it wrong, but there are rumours - Polli, as she is commonly known, is no slouch despite her long years. “They’re here to train. They will get better.”

It is both a statement of truth and a threat to the awaiting trainees – if they do not get better and fall in, then the Resistance has no place for them. Polli harrumphes, a scoffing noise that still has a note of fondness to it. “You have too much faith in them Dameron,” she says. “But it is your funeral.”

Poe shakes his head. None of them are that bad, he thinks, as he goes round and inspects everyone’s landings, before entering the cabin to meet the rest of the fool-hardy idiots who are willing to risk their lives flying for the Resistance.

Three days into training, and he reconsiders his thoughts.

It’s been a couple of years since he had anything to do with training new pilots. But still, he doesn’t remember it ever being this bad. They can’t even fly in formation, let alone pull off any of the standard manoeuvres. One of them still can’t get an X-Wing to go where she wants it.

“Every ship has four basic controls,” Poe finds himself saying, for what feels like the millionth time that week and at least the sixth time that day. “Power, pitch, yaw and roll. Forget about the rest of it, Eiyaali. Find those controls and you can fly any ship in the galaxy.”

Dark eyes look back at him, irritation ever increasing. If Poe is annoyed about her inability to get an X-Wing to successfully do anything, he knows that it doesn’t even come close to how irritated she is with herself. The frustrating thing is that he’s seen what she can do in her own ship. There, Eiyaali is in her element, and is the best pilot of Poe’s recruits hands down.

However, being a former smuggler – she used to work with Yaffa Bleck, which is how she came to the Resistance – her own ship is built from scrap, modified to her hearts content and handles nothing like an X-Wing (or a A-Wing, or a Y-Wing, or actually anything that Poe’s ever flown before, and Poe has flown an awful lot of ships.) So when she’s put in the cockpit of one, it’s all gone horribly wrong. Barely able to fly the thing in a straight line wrong. Poe’s at the end of his tether; he has no idea what to do with someone who is clearly an excellent pilot but cannot grasp the controls of the one ship she will be required to fly.

He distantly thinks back to when he first met Yaffa Bleck. She’d said something about having difficulty with the controls of an X-Wing, too. They were all in the wrong place, or something, even though an X-Wing is specifically built to be as intuitive as possible. But for Poe’s life he cannot remember how she got over it. Only that she did, which is the only reason that Poe hasn’t sent Eiyaali packing.

“That’s easy for you to say, you were raised in one of these things,” Eiyaali retorts, biting her lip while she runs through the X-Wing’s start up sequence. (Poe disconnected the actual power after she nearly blew the ship up, five attempts ago.) “There.”

“You missed the power stabilisation,” Poe says, raking a hand through his hair. “Though you’d have probably noticed that if this thing was on. The blowback would have been something.”

“Well turn the damn thing on, instead of doing all this pretending.”

“Not until I’ve ascertained that you aren’t a danger to yourself and others,” Poe says. “If we had sims that would be great, but we don’t, so we’ve got to do this the old fashioned way.”

Eiyaali scowls back at him. “Fine. Now, assuming I’ve got this _brcthalin_ of a ship started successfully, what next?” Poe proceeds to walk her through the basics, keeping a record of how many times she’d have crashed the ship if they were in the air. When they reach double figures, he stops.

“This isn’t working,” he says.

“Tell me something I don’t know, commander.” She pulls herself out the ship and back onto the ground, walking away from him before she can do something stupid like punch him in the face. Poe lets her go. He looks at the time, and decides to call the others back; there’s eight of them in the sky right now, practising manoeuvres under the New Republic Captain, who is proving not entirely incompetent. The rest of them are with Pollis’havera, who’s explaining care and maintenance of the ships.

He wanders over that way. One of the New Republic Pilots – Yatthew Plage – snaps to attention when he sees Poe coming. The other two give lazy salutes, which Plage looks distressed about. “At ease, everyone,” Poe says, waving his hand. He certainly doesn’t want them standing on ceremony. The Resistance doesn’t care about that sort of thing. “Polli, shall we break for lunch?”

Polli glances up at the X-Wings coming into land, six of them in the right place but two hopelessly adrift, and nods. “I think that’s for the best,” she says. The birds are on the ground now, and the Captain has leapt out of his, sprinting towards a modified Naboo fighter which is smoking badly. Two of the others have pulled the pilot from the cockpit, who is looking slightly dazed. “You might want to clear that mess up first,” she suggests, before beating a hasty retreat back to the cabin.

Poe sighs and wonders if he comm-ed back to main base and said that this was hardly his idea of light duty, they’d send someone out to help him. But they can’t spare the pilots, so Poe’ll have to struggle on by himself. They’ll get it eventually, right?

.

It’s a week before things finally start to improve.

Poe digs deep back into his memories of being at the Naval Academy, which feels like a lifetime ago, and finds things that start working. Starts talking to each of the pilots individually, finding out what makes them tick. Discovers that Oplin Krajik was used to working collaboratively with his XO, who hadn’t defected with him; Adelaide Masera dreamt of competitive stunt flying as a child, before it was outlawed in Republic systems; that Nathé Saylin is bitter about the Republic not taking her as a pilot (you have to be an officer to fly, she reminds Poe, bitterness entrenched in her voice. No one was about to grant a scavenger kid from a backwater planet a commission.)

And being on a planet away from everything else in the Resistance is good for Poe. He gets up early in the morning, goes running in the crisp Moshmani air – BB-8 alongside him, tracking his heart rate and making encouraging comments about how he compares to the other pilots. Having Pollis’havera around to deal with day-to-day affairs is a godsend. She even handles the daily report back to Command, leaving Poe free to think.

And there’s a lot to think about. How to shape this motley crew into a squadron, for a start. Finn, as well, and Rey, and how the General must be doing with negotiations with the remnants of the New Republic. Hopes that Karé is doing the excellent job he knows she can do, and that Iolo and the rest of Dagger Squadron are keeping themselves safe. Wonders if there’s anything more he could be doing. All his team could benefit from some time in sims, but they don’t have any. There aren’t the X-Wings to be had to run twelve member squadron manoeuvres, though Poe’s assured that when he gets them back to the Resistance there will be ships for them all. But things are coming together.

Poe is on the ground, watching Oplin Krajik lead the group from Black One – he’s had to relinquish his beloved X-Wing for the exercise. Four pairs fly in formation, while the remaining pilots are up in the various odd ships that they have, playing the bad guys. Besides Poe, Pollis’havera is listening to Krajik give commands over the comms. The leadership training Poe’s been dolling out must have helped, because Polli isn’t pulling faces.

It’s not the most riveting sky battle, but they pull the Antilles Intercept off, and return victorious. They even come into land in perfect formation, elegant touchdowns that hardly disturb the grass. Major Rydel is going to be so pleased about that one. “They’re getting better,” Pollis’havera admits, begrudgingly, as she takes off her headset. “You might make pilots of them yet, Dameron.”

“I have made pilots of them, Polli” Poe says.

Polli harrumphes. She means to say something, but BB-8 comes rolling up. The droid had been flying with Saylin, in one of the X-Wings, communicating recording data from the other astromechs about the whole process. “Hey buddy,” Poe says, kneeling down. “How’d everyone do?”

A string of beeps and whistles follows. Poe picks the following out. Threks Bja is still a little heavy handed with the X-Wing controls and the droid he’s borrowed, T3-G7, is having to issue minor corrections to make sure he doesn’t crash. Oplin’s droid doesn’t like Black One, despite it being BB-8s favourite ship to fly. Plage and his droid are distressed about the lack of protocol amongst the rest of their pilots. But apart from that, everything ran extremely smoothly. BB-8 is full of praise for Nathé Saylin, who has channelled her anger into proving that she is better than any of the former Republic pilots. She, BB-8 wryly observes, seems to be on track to managing it.

“Excellent work, everyone,” Poe yells. The pilots are all busy going through their post-flight checks, helping each other out. The four who have been flying the non X-Wing ships have left them in favour of running with the X-Wings, and Krajik has talked Eiyalli into making the checks on Black One. They are starting to act like a squadron; aware of everyone else’s strengths and weaknesses. “Captain Krajik, feel like handling the debrief?”

“Sir?” Krajik turns to him, eyes wide with concern. Poe pastes on what he’s widely told is his most reassuring smile. “Of course, sir.”

“You all did very well, before anyone starts worrying.” The other pilots have all stopped their work and have turned to him. “I’ll see you all later to pass on my opinions, but your Squad Leader knows what’s up.” Poe claps Krajik on the shoulder before turning away back to the cabin.

Oplin Krajik is capable of handling this. The kid – he’s at least five years younger than Poe, Poe’s allowed – was a squadron leader for a year before his defection, even if he was backed up by an older and wiser XO. And honestly, if Poe was assembling the squadron completely from scratch, Krajik might not have been his first choice for command. Nathé Saylin is the one who screams potential to him, and Poe fully intends to see it noted in her file. But Krajik has the experience, and most importantly, the knowledge to handle the paperwork that comes with a command.

(Because in the end, that’s the reason why Squadron Leaders fail. They end up hating the forms and bureaucracy of it all. There might be less of that in General Organa’s Resistance, but that doesn’t mean it’s been eliminated. So Krajik will have command.)

Poe glances across the field. Pollis’havera has moved to do her own inspection of the ships, accompanied by half the droids, who like her a lot better than they do Poe. BB-8 has stayed to witness the debrief – they’ll report to Poe if there’s any thing that he desperately needs to know. Which leaves Poe free to go back to the cabin and get an hour or two of much needed peace and quiet.

Though, really, he should know not to expect that by now. He’s only just managed to grab a glass of water and a spare ration bar when his comm starts beeping. Priority transmission from Resistance High Command. Poe knows better than to ignore something marked like that. He grabs a chair at the table before picking it up, and is greeted with the sight of General Organa and Admiral Statura.

“General, Admiral,” Poe says. It’s difficult to tell where they are due to the shaky hologram background, but the stripped nature of the walls would indicate that they’re either in the final days of D’Qar base or they’ve already moved elsewhere. “How are things?”

“Not as bad as they could be,” Leia answers. “Poe, how is the pilots training going?”

“We’re getting there,” Poe replies. “Another week and I’d be quite happy to slide them into an active duy roster, apart from the one pilot who still can’t work out the X-Wing controls.”

“If they can’t fly an X-Wing, they aren’t much good to us,” Statura says.

“A thousand former A-Wing pilots just screeched in horror,” Poe says, thinking of half his mother’s old sqaud who wouldn’t have gotten in an X-wing unless they were the very last line of defence. “She’s an excellent pilot, and given half a chance in a simulator I think she’d get there. I just can’t give her that out here.”

“We’ll work that out later,” Leia says. “Poe, I don’t want to push anyone into action before they’re ready, but I could do with your help. Lieutenant Uxthi Hrkant has called in, and has requested some support. She’s got urgent information on the First Order’s presence in the Breshva system. I’d like to send her a couple of pilots, and you’re closer than anyone else.”

Poe knows Hrkant. One of Dagger Squadron’s old hands, excellent pilot, slicer and undercover operative rolled into one. Iolo has always spoken very fondly of her. She’s also good at her job, so if she wants an extraction, it must be necessary. She wouldn’t ask otherwise.

“I can do it,” he says. “Send me all the details. I’ll take a couple of this lot with me and send the rest to rendezvous with you.”

“Thank you, Poe,” Leia says.

The transmission is ended before Poe has a chance to ask any of the questions he desperately wants, but doesn’t need, answers to. If Finn has woken up. How Karé is doing as STAC. But the data comes through and Poe busies himself with reading it, getting the lay of the land and wondering exactly what he might have gotten himself into. How to structure the mission, and who to bring with him.

“Poe?” Polli says, poking her head around the kitchen door. She takes in the plans projected on the wall and sighs. “Orders from the General?”

“Training’s over,” Poe replies, switching the holo off. “Could you gather them all up? I need to brief them.”

She nods, and goes. Poe looks at the glass of water and ration bar left on the table, not touched since he first put them down. He necks the water and takes a bite out of the ration bar. He should probably learn to eat properly, but that’s a debate for another day.

The cabin on Moshmani has a single communal area, and they’ve been using it as a mess hall for the duration of the training. Briefings have typically been held outside, taking advantage of Moshmani’s temperate climate. But this time, Poe wants them inside and concentrating, something that will reflect what they will encounter more often. He walks in to twelve nervous faces, all staring at the empty wall where BB-8 sits ready to project Poe’s plans.

Poe waves, a little awkward salute, hoping to put them at ease. It doesn’t really work, so he takes up his position at the front, and gets down to what he’s really good at; leading. “First, can I just say that you’ve all made excellent progress. I know Polli and I both despaired when we saw your first flight, but you have become pilots to make us proud. But I’m afraid our time here has come to an end.”

None of them audibly react, but Poe catches the way Eiyaali’s face falls. She knows that she’s not good enough yet, that if she gets sent to pilot an X-Wing in an active combat zone she’ll be dead within a month. Poe pushes through. “General Organa has requested I lead a mission to aid Lieutenant Uxthi Hrkant, otherwise known as Dagger Two, who’s been collecting information on the First Order’s activities in the Breshva system. I will be requiring some assistance, and I’ll be taking two of you with me. The rest of you are to rendezvous with the Resistance and begin conducting your official duties as Red Squadron.”

“Captain Krajik, you will have lead. I have a list of your pilots callsigns, as well as military rankings, on my holopad, you will be coordinating your own return to the Resistance. Ensign Eiyaali and Lieutenant Bja, you will be accompanying me to the Breshva system.” Poe makes sure to pick them both out in the crowd, meeting Eiyaali’s eyes. “You’ll both be flying your own ships, don’t worry.” He gives a nod to BB-8, who puts the first stage of the plan up on the wall. “Now, the Resistance has long suspected the Breshva System of harbouring First Order interests. It was therefore one of our top priorities when we broke Dagger Squadron up and sent the pilots undercover. Lieutenant Hrkant has been under for two months.”

Poe continues, laying out the plan. He doesn’t really need everyone to be there for this, but he thinks it’s good practice for those unfamiliar with military briefings to sit in on one before it becomes necessary. Eiyaali and Bja are both unnerved by being chosen - neither of them are the best pilots in the class, but sometimes it isn’t about who’s the most technically competent, but rather who has the skills that compliment the mission best. Eiyaali’s stealthy little fighter, combined with Bja’s brute strength, will provide the cover Poe needs.

He finishes the briefing, and they both look tense. Poe gives the pair of them copies of the plan, as much of it that exists, given that Hrkant’s request pretty much consisted of ‘things have gone to shit: get me out of here.’ “Study them carefully, get some rest. We leave at dusk,” he tells them. Then he dismisses the group, but grabs Krajik before he leaves.

“Your lists.” Poe thrusts the holopad into Krajik’s waiting hands. “Bja is Red Five and Eiyaali is Red Eleven, so you don’t need to worry about those. I haven’t paired anyone off, but I have made suggestions on lead / wingmen pairs. Ultimately it’s your decision. As is the appointment of your XO.” Poe knows exactly who he’d appoint, but he needs to hand off control to Krajik at some point. Let the man stand and make his own decisions.

“Saylin, right?”

Krajik looks at Poe for his approval. Nathé Saylin is exactly who he’d have recommended, but not the choice Poe thought Krajik would make. “Yes,” Poe replies, but his surprise must show on his face.

“I’m not an idiot,” Krajik says. “She’s the best of us. She’ll also drive me absolutely crazy, but that’s an XO’s job.”

Poe thinks back to how Karé used to wind him up, in the Republic, and agrees. He claps Krajik on the shoulder. “If you keep thinking like that, you’ll be fine.”

.

The Breshva system is a nine hour flight from Moshmani; what looks like a short hop on a starfield map turns into a much longer flight due to a gravity well stuck in the middle of the route. There’s nothing to do but fly around it. Poe thinks it’ll be fine. How much trouble can Uxthi really conjure up overnight?

Tangled up in a shooting war with a dozen TIE fighters, Poe discovers that it’s a lot. Really, he shouldn’t have expected any less from one of Dagger’s brightest pilots. “Red Eleven, you’ve got incoming on your Starboard,” Poe shouts, firing off a volley of shots as he loops an arc round Bja’s ship. One of them hits home and the TIE explodes. “Hrkant, are you and your info intact?”

“We’re a-okay Commander.” Uxthi sounds way too cheerful for a woman who has just been run off a planet, probably caused a hell of a diplomatic incident, got shot down, bailed and picked up by an unfamiliar ship. “I’ve been hearing about your exploits, isn’t this basically a milk-run for you now?”

Poe makes a sharp banking turn, throwing off one of the TIEs, and Eiyaali blasts it, sending it tumbling into the planet below. They really need to clear atmo. “Red Five, get her out of here. Red Eleven and I will cover you.”

“Affirmative, Black Leader.”

Bja takes his ship – a smuggling convoy, Corellian in make, built for a crew of two but Bja’s been flying it solo for the last three years – up, aiming for the break into space. The size of his ship is the main reason Poe chose him for the mission, which proved to be a good thing when Uxthi got shot down and Bja was able to pick her up. They’re almost clear. Poe counts down the time for hyperspace ignition, as Eiyaali darts in front of Bja, drawing fire. The TIEs are swooping, and Poe knows they need to clear the way.

“Eiyaali, eleven o’clock, take that one, I’ve got the one at four,” Poe says. “Bja, are you ready to be away? Hrkant, should we expect reinforcements?”

“Negative,” Hrkant replies.

“Thirty seconds,” Bja says. “Shall I wait for you?”

Eiyaali just lets out a woop as her cannons get a hit on the TIE she’s chasing.

“No, we can handle ourselves. And we’ll be right behind you anyway.” Poe lets out a burst of laser fire. None of it hits home, but it wasn’t aimed particularly well. “Once you have an opening, go for it.”

There are seven TIE fighters left— no, six, as Eiyaali clouts one on the wing, sending it into a spiral Poe knows will be deadly. Bja’s engine cranks into gear and he goes, making the jump to hyperspace.

“Red Eleven, lets get out of here,” Poe says. He feints, rolls over, and hits the TIE on his tail straight and direct. “Eiyaali, are you ready for the jump?”

“Give me a sec!” she yells, probably through gritted teeth if her tone is any indication. Poe glances over. She’s being pursued by three of the fighters in formation, and she’ll run straight into a fourth if she isn’t careful.

“I’m coming to assist,” Poe says. He gets a TIE in sight, shoots it down, but the others are still pursuing Eiyaali, who is racing out of the system. Her fighter is faster than the TIEs, but that’s no use if she can’t get the time to kick her Hyperspace engines into gear. “Eiyaali, we have to move!”

She spins, darting away in a dance. “Computer says sixty seconds to jump.”

Sixty seconds. More time than Poe would like. He checks briefly with BB-8, but he’s ready to go - the droid has been prepared for a Hyperspace jump since they cleared atmo. A shot passes over the transparisteel of the cockpit, far closer than Poe anticipated. He curses, and banks sharply to the right.

“I’ve got it, Commander,” Eiyaali says, pulling into view. Really, Poe would like it far more if she concentrated on getting out of here instead of saving his ass. He can do that himself.

He sees it happening before she does. Two TIEs making for her, intent on trapping her in a collision course.

“Eiyaali, you’ve got to jump now. BB-8, let’s go!”

The stars start to blur, along with the thrum of distortion. Poe glances round, one last time. Eiyaali’s going to clear them – only she doesn’t, not quite, one hits her wing and _Illenu Stern_ is damaged. Poe flicks the yoke of his X-Wing on reflex, intent on going to her aid, but he’s away.

And then he’s not.

He’s been hit; his engines have failed. Electricity surges everywhere. The ship spirals out of control.

And Poe plummets through the sky, once more on a collision course with a planet below.


	3. Chapter 3

Poe comes to with the acrid taste of burning metal on his tongue and a horrible shooting pain in his arm.

He tries to move, but that makes everything worse. He almost blacks out again, but he steels himself and manages to hang on. Keeps his eyes closed, breathes, counts to ten. He can’t be in immediate danger – there isn’t the whistle of an impending explosion from behind him. If his X-Wing has survived this long, it’ll probably hold until he can get himself out of it.

He opens his eyes and focuses on the data pad in front of him. Unsurprisingly, it’s flashing critical errors back at him. “BB-8?” he chokes out, hoping his droid is still going. His voice isn’t distorted, so his comms are probably down.

A shadow moves across his viewscreen. Poe thinks about reaching for his blaster, but it’s on the side he can’t actually move, so that’s not going to help. The next thing he knows is that someone is prying the top off his X-Wing, forcing it open. “Poe,” a voice says. “Dameron, are you alive in there?”

“Affirmative,” Poe manages to say. He tries to pull himself forward, but is stopped with a firm hand to his shoulder. He finally looks at who else has crashed into this forest with him. “Eiyaali?”

“Don’t move,” she says. She looks battered; there’s a cut to her forehead that’s bled down the side of her face, but then headwounds always do bleed a lot. She’s certainly in better shape than Poe. “Kriffing hell you went down badly. You look like you’ve wrestled a rankor.” Poe jolts forward again. He doesn’t feel that bad. “Stop it. Stop. You’re badly injured, and I don’t have much in the way of medical supplies on my ship. And I need to go and get them and you need to not move until I’ve worked out quite what you’ve done to yourself, commander.”

She leaps off, vanishing down into the shrubbery below. Poe sits back, because he has a feeling that Eiyaali really means it.

Poe can’t really tell how long she’s gone for, but it doesn’t seem that long before she’s in front of his face again, waving a hand to grab his attention. “Red Eleven to Black Leader, come in, is anyone home?” Poe groans. “I’ll take that. Now, your right arm is clearly busted, and I have a sneaking suspicion you’ve probably got minor concussion. Anything else desperately hurting?”

Poe thinks for a moment. Her summary seems accurate. His head seems as foggy as it has been every other time he’s been told he has a concussion. Most of the pain is centralised on his right arm. The thought of moving it is more than he can bear. His breathing is shallower than he’d like, and rattling slightly in a way that he suspects means cracked ribs. But apart from that, he’s not in bad nick. Battered and bruised, but he’s still got all his parts intact. That’s definitely a success.

“Ribs aren’t great,” he says, voice low and scraping in a way that if Kalonia were here, she’d tell him to shut his mouth pronto.

“Not much I can do about that, sorry,” Eiyaali apologises, digging through her medpac. “You allergic to anything? I’m supposed to ask that, right?”

“No allergies,” Poe grunts.

“Excellent.” Eiyaali jabs a needle into Poe’s leg. “That should help with the pain. And give me a sec, I’ll sling up your arm.”

Poe rides the high of whatever Eiyaali has injected him with. It’s something different from the standard painkiller Kalonia favours, but Poe suspects he doesn’t want to enquire too much about the composition (something cut with spice, he imagines. Eiyaali used to be caught up with smuggling rings, it makes sense.) She manages to get his arm decently bound up before Poe jerks away. “BB-8!” he exclaims.

“Non-responsive,” Eiyaali says, voice grim as she ties the bandage off. “Hold still, I still need to sling this up so you can’t wave it about.” Poe acquiesces, knowing that she’s right. “Your droid’s still behind you, but I reckon the power overloaded when you came down as part of that ridiculous stunt you pulled.” Poe doesn’t remember any stunts. Just engaging his hyperdrive and getting hit. “You and your droid saved the ship, but you’d have been better ejecting, you idiot. I think BB-8 took on a lot of the surplus power – we’d have to check your ship logs to be sure – and is currently working through it. Hibernation mode. She’ll be fine.”

Poe nods.

“Now, do you want a stim tab before attempting to get out of your ship, or do you think you can manage without?” Eiyaali asks.

Poe thinks about it. He hates stims – they mess with his reflexes, dull his senses in a way he doesn’t like – but on the other hand his mind still isn’t clear enough. He needs the additional kick. “If you’ve got some, I’d appreciate it.”

Eiyaali fishes them out her kit, and feeds one to Poe. The taste is just as bitter as he remembers, and the slight fizzing on his tongue is unpleasant. But a few minutes later he actually feels like he might be able to move. “Status Report,” he says to Eiyaali, who is watching him with her eyes narrowed in concern.

“Well, we crashed,” she says, with the straightforwardness of someone who has never had to write a status report. “Somewhere in a forest. I think we made it out of the Breshva System before failing, but I wasn’t watching my nav computer. _Illenu Stern_ ’s hyperdrive is down, and one of her wings is sheared. She’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Black One’s in better shape, but you’re in no shape to fly her.”

“That’s great,” Poe says. He’s feeling more alert now, but he’s aware that it’s an artificial high from the stimulants and that he shouldn’t push it. “And Bja was away before we got into trouble, so he’s got no idea we went down. Though he’ll immediately be suspicious when we don’t follow him out of hyperspace. Someone will come looking for us eventually. Might take a while though. Is your nav computer up? We could do with actually knowing where we are.”

Black One’s systems all seem to be on the blink, so Poe thinks he’d rather trust _Illenu Stern_ ’s data – if she’s got any.

“I’ll have a look. Not placing any bets, though.” Eiyaali pauses before sprinting off. “You want a hand out of there? Your legs aren’t damaged so you should be able to stand.”

Getting out of the cockpit sounds like a good idea. And really, something he should be able to manage by himself. But with one arm slung up against his chest and no sense of balance, dismounting an X-Wing is much harder than Poe ever thought it could be, and he’s glad of Eiyaali’s assistance.

On the ground, the damage is simultaneously worse and better than he was expecting. The shrubbery underfoot is charred, broken branches torn this and that way, and a couple of trees have been levelled by the crash. But both ships – with the exception of _Illenu Stern_ ’s sheared wing – are intact. And Poe can stand on his own two feet. That’s an achievement.

He goes round to Black One’s astromech socket. He thinks Eiyaali is right – electrical overload through the back coupling sockets. “Hey Buddy,” Poe says, voice soft. “I’m gonna get you out of this mess.” He looks for the manual release catch, then realises it was never designed to be pulled by an injured human with only one functioning arm. Another job he’ll need Eiyaali’s help for.

“Yo Boss, I found out where we are,” Eiyaali says as she wanders back over. She stops in front of Poe and looks at BB-8. “Manual release catch, right, should have thought of that.” She leans over and flicks it, then catches BB-8 before they fall to the ground.

The jolt must reconnect one of BB-8’s circuits, because the little droid powers back up, with concerned beeps and whistles that indicate a corrupted sequence somewhere in their programming. Poe brushes a hand over BB-8’s head in a soothing motion he knows doesn’t achieve anything. With a bit of luck, BB-8 will manage to work round whatever’s wrong and be right as rain in no time. If not, Poe’s in for a tricky reprogramming session trying to work out where the problem is.

“Anyway,” Eiyaali says. “We’re on Crestia II, in the Threllin System, one over from the Breshva System. Came down on the South Continent, in what my system says is the Lysterri Forest?”

“Are you sure?” Poe asks.

“Pretty certain,” Eiyaali replies. “You can check the data yourself though. Why?”

“Eiyaali, I think we just got the first piece of good news in a long while.” Poe can’t resist the smile that’s broken out on his face. “We’ve just managed to crash in the back yard of an old Alliance pilot.”

.

Okay, so back yard is possibly a stretch of the term. It’s a three hour trek before Eiyaali and Poe are clear of the woods, but they finally sight a tiny wooden cabin on the horizon. A little closer and a T-85 X-Wing comes into view beside it. And then, when Poe’s legs feel like they’re about to give way underneath him, their owner appears before them.

“Dameron,” he says gruffly. “It’s about time you showed up.”

Poe salutes, a sincere gesture made more difficult by the fact that he’s doing it with the wrong hand.

“You were expecting us?” Eiyaali butts in, confused.

“Well, I’m due a visit from an earnest young Resistance Pilot telling me that my skills are needed and General Organa would greatly appreciate it if her old friend would do his bit.” He folds his arms, attempting to look stiff, but there’s something in him that seems amused at the concept. “Also, I saw the smoke trails of your ships going down. And then got the comm asking me that if I could please be on the lookout for two missing Resistance pilots. I was about to go and pull the pair of you out of your ships, but I guess you beat me to it.”

“We’d have appreciated the help, Wedge.” Poe’s smile, relentless on his face since he first realised that they hadn’t actually come down in the middle of nowhere, starts to falter, turning into a grimace. Eiyaali moves closer, intent on propping Poe up if he needs it.

Wedge Antilles gives Poe a stern look. “Inside, Poe, before you fall over where you stand.” BB-8 whistles agreement, and rolls forward into Poe’s legs.

Poe just nods, and Eiyaali is left to follow her commanding officer and the stranger, who Poe explained to her on the way there, is one of the greatest heroes of the old Alliance, the only one to help bring down both Death Stars, and dozens of other successful missions aside. Once inside the old wooden house, Poe is guided to a bench while the older man goes off in search of something. He returns with a much better-stocked medkit than the one Eiyaali had tucked away in her ship.

“Luckily, someone had the sense to bind your arm up, so you’ve at least not made it worse,” Wedge says, passing a clean cloth over Poe’s forehead to clean off the dried blood. “It’ll still need to be set properly, but you’ll have avoided the worst of it. That your doing?”

He turns to look at Eiyaali, who nods. “He’s had a shot of morphend and a stim tab too,” she says, after a moment. She doesn’t have a lot of experience with medical staff, but they do usually ask what treatment the patient has already received. “And he said something about cracked ribs.”

BB-8 tuts sternly, but Poe can hear the concern through it. He’s just glad that BB-8’s language program seems to have righted itself.

“Those’ll be fun. You’ll get a bollocking from whoever your medical officer is for walking on them,” Wedge says. “You should have waited for someone to get you.”

“Didn’t know anyone would be with us soon enough,” Poe replies. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be home or not, but figured that you’d probably have spare parts and a decent comlink and that was better than nothing.”

Wedge shakes his head. “Dameron, with that determination, it’s a miracle you’ve never done yourself serious damage.”

Poe shoots Wedge a dirty look. “Says one of the most frequently injured pilots in the service.”

Eiyaali looks Wedge up and down. He seems perfectly whole to her; none of his limbs look artificial, and she didn’t notice a limp.

Wedge notices her staring. “I broke my leg in three places on one of my first missions for the Alliance. Took months to heal properly; no one thought I’d ever fly combat again. Broke a couple of bone in this hand not long after Endor. Dislocated both my shoulders, multiple times. And I’ve cracked my ribs so many times I think everyone gave up count, though Luke tried to work it out once.”

Poe’s been with the Resistance too long. He’s gotten to used to people talking about Luke Skywalker in reverential tones, or in clipped neutrality as they speak about the mission to retrieve him. It shouldn’t be a surprise to hear Wedge speak of him with warmth and fondness, and so utterly casually, especially given their history, but somehow it is.

He should tell Wedge they’ve found Luke. Unless he already knows – would Leia have told him? Poe remembers the early days of looking for Luke, where there’d been discussion of whether Wedge could drag Luke back by whatever irascible connection they’d had back in the days of Rogue Squadron. It had been shot down quickly. Wedge had looked for Luke before, just after he’d gone missing, taken six months of leave from the Navy. He hadn’t been alone. Wes, Hobbie, Tycho, a half-dozen others who had flown with Wedge and Luke, they’d all helped. But it had been unsuccessful, and Wedge had almost driven himself into the ground doing it. From the dregs of the mission, and Leia and Han’s quest to find Ben, the Resistance had been born, but Wedge had gone back to the Republic. Taken a post at the naval academy, teaching students how to fly. Leia’s tried to court him for the Resistance on numerous occasions since, mostly in recent years as it became clearer that the Republic Navy was failing in its duties. But Wedge had stayed firm. He’s not joining the Resistance.

But Poe doesn’t get a chance to mention any of this. Wedge is up and moving before he can get the words out his mouth. “I’m going to go and let Leia know that you’re both alright, then me and—” Wedge pauses for a moment, looking to Eiyaali. “Eiyaali?” he asks, uncertain. She nods back at him. “Sorry,” he apologises, though Eiyaali doesn’t look unperturbed by the fact that he was uncertain over her name while knowing Poe’s. “Eiyaali and I will go out and see if we can piece your ships back together. Poe, you stay here. Find a flat surface to lie on, and get some rest.”

Poe remembers nodding, before spreading himself over Wedge’s sofa and letting exhaustion overtake him. It’s not sleep, really; the combination of the stim-tab and painkillers in his system is a bad one, and both of them are steadily wearing off, which means goodbye to the alertness and hello to the pain. He must fall into some state of unconscious though, because when he comes to the sun is far lower in the sky than it has any right to be.

There are sounds of movement, too. Poe sits up, and immediately regrets it, letting out a groan. That brings Eiyaali to his side, brandishing a glass of water at him. “Drink,” she orders. “Wedge is making soup,” she adds, once he’s drained half the glass.

A bowl is brought in, and placed in front of him with a spoon. “You can manage, right?” Wedge asks.

Poe picks up the spoon, thankful for the academy training that meant he was most of the way to ambidextrous, as far as most tasks were concerned. The spoon feels a little odd in his non-dominant hand, but he can sure use it to get the soup to his mouth. “I’ll cope.”

“Good,” Wedge pronounces. “I’ve spoonfed you before, I have no desire to do it again now you’ve hit adulthood.”

“Wait, what?” Eiyaali, who has her own bowl of soup and is perched on top of a table (Wedge doesn’t seem to believe in having extra chairs for company, which sort of makes sense as this house is out in the back of beyond and seems very much designed for a solitary existence), lurches, and almost spits her soup back into the bowl. “You knew the Commander when he was little?”

“I don’t remember you spoon-feeding me,” Poe says, in a quiet mumble.

“You’d have only been about two, maybe three,” Wedge says. Turning to Eiyaali, he adds, “His mother was one of the pilots with the Rebel Alliance. We were friends, back in the day. I got stuck on medical leave with nowhere to go so Shara took pity on me and invited me back to her father’s place. Little did I know that I’d be pressed into action as a babysitter.”

That story makes sense to Poe, even though he doesn’t remember it. There were Alliance pilots in and out of his parents’ place throughout his childhood.

Poe focuses on eating his soup, while Eiyaali asks Wedge for tales of the Alliance and the Republic, which he isn’t short of. Darkness falls outside and Poe dozes off again, lulled by the sound of tales he’s heard a million times before.

When he wakes up, he’s no longer on the couch but in a bed, tucked under the sheets. There’s enough sunlight peeking in through the curtains to suggest that it’s morning, and that Poe’s slept in. There’s a glass of water on the bedside table and some fresh painkillers, which Poe takes gladly. Then he gets up; visits the refresher to splash some water on his face. He goes looking for Wedge and Eiyaali, but they don’t seem to be in the house. There is breakfast left for him in the kitchen, so Poe tucks in.

He realises that Wedge and Eiyaali are outside, working on the ships. They must have managed to drag the wrecks back the day before, because both of them are now sitting on Wedge’s front lawn. They seem to be making good progress, from what he can tell. Eiyaali is deep into her own ship’s wiring whilst Wedge supervises.

Poe settles on the grass, close enough to watch but not close enough to participate, and enjoys the morning sunshine that’s pleasantly warming in a way that most sunshine isn’t. Eiyaali and Wedge make a decent pair, and Wedge is certainly a better teacher than Poe ever was. _Illenu Star_ is patched up within a couple of hours, though they can’t do much about the wing; Wedge might have basic supplies but he doesn’t have the equipment to weld a sheared wing back together. Then they crouch over Black One and Poe can hear Wedge explain what each component does. At first Poe is surprised that Wedge knows so much about Starfighter construction, but then he remembers through the fog of the pain medication that Wedge was on the team that had advised most of the key upgrades when the Navy shifted from the T-65s to the T-70s. He’d have flown a ship not dissimilar to Black One for years.

It doesn’t take long before whatever was wrong seems to be fixed. Wedge’s trusty astromech, R4-G8 runs a full diagnostic while Wedge and Eiyaali break for a spot of lunch; they bring some out to Poe, and it seems to be the remnants of whatever was in Wedge’s cupboards. He probably wasn’t expecting two extra mouths to feed. Gate certifies Black One to be in working order, and Wedge guides Eiyaali through the start up sequence.

Wedge retreats once he thinks she has it in hand. Poe watches as the woman who two weeks ago couldn’t get an X-Wing to budge without causing a systematic melt-down makes one of the smoothest take-offs he’s ever seen.

“I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to teach her how to fly one of those things,” Poe says, as Wedge comes to sit next to him. “And you’ve done it in the space of hours.”

“Experience,” Wedge says. “I’ve been flying and teaching an awful lot longer than you have Poe. You learn these things.”

“Join the Resistance.” It’s out of Poe’s mouth before he knows it, and Wedge’s face falls. “We lost Stexan on the Starkiller run. We need a new training officer. I’m only a stop-gap – this is the General’s idea of giving me a break – but we both know that I don’t have the temperament or the skill to do this again and again, squadron after squadron. It’s what you’re best at. We need you.” And it’s not just Wedge’s skill in training pilots that would be appreciated, Poe thinks. He’s an excellent strategist, with a calmer head than most old Alliance hands; he’d be an excellent addition to Resistance command.

Wedge shakes his head, and then holds up a hand when Poe moves to speak again. “It’s not that I don’t agree with what you’re doing. I never doubted that the First Order were going to be a bigger threat than Fleet Command expected. I might not have wanted to believe it, but I know to trust Leia. She’s been doing good work with the Resistance. But I know where I can do the most good, and it’s still not with the Resistance.”

“Why?” Poe asks.

“Poe, where do most of your pilots come from?”

“Republic Navy or Planetary Defence,” Poe replies. His most recent lot of trainees were largely former Republic – a fair number possibly trained by Wedge himself. Leia’s contacts are bringing a greater number of pilots from the rougher side of the law – smugglers, blockade runners, etc. – but they are still the minority.

“And who trains those pilots?” Realisation dawns over Poe’s face. Of course. And a lot of the planetary defence forces send their pilots to be trained at the naval academy. Half of Poe’s class had gone back to their own planets to serve. “I might as well work for the Resistance at this point. And Leia, much as she might hate to admit it, needs contacts in the Navy. There might come a time when I’ll come over, but not yet. The Republic might be down, but it isn’t out yet. We can’t abandon it.”

Poe nods in understanding. He did his years in the Republic Navy, believing that that was the best option, before Muran died and Leia offered him the opportunity to be something more. Wedge, at least, is doing something useful with the Navy. They sit in silence for a moment before Poe says, “We found Luke.”

“Have you seen him with your own two eyes?” Wedge asks. “Or do you just think that you’ve found the latest place he’s decided to hide himself away in?” Wedge sounds exhausted, likely born of all that time he spent looking for Luke and failing.

Poe sighs. “The second, I suppose. We found all the pieces of the map he left, and Rey – she’s a scavenger we found on Jakku, great pilot, she’s force sensitive and she’s got Luke’s old lightsaber, the one he lost in Cloud City – she’s gone to find him. She’ll bring him back, I know it.”

“That’s a lot of faith in someone,” Wedge says, and Poe shrugs in admittance. Wedge hasn’t met Rey, who has this presence that makes you believe she could move mountains if she wanted. “When I went looking for Luke, I wanted to believe that I could be reason enough for him to come back. I never managed to find him, and it drove me half-mad for a time. But in the end, I realised. Luke would come back when we needed him. He’s always been there when we really needed him.”

Poe wants to disagree, momentarily wondering if he should be the one lecturing Wedge on faith. But then he looks at Wedge, really looks. There’s resignation in his face, and he’s still carrying the mantle of grief from those long years of failing. But there’s a warmth in his eyes, a light that Poe recognises, and Poe knows that it has nothing to do with faith.

It’s funny. He’s always sort of known that Wedge was in love with Luke, that there was something between them in the days of the alliance. People don’t talk about it much, but Poe’s heard all the stories and wondered how you could possibly come to a different conclusion. His mother had some old holos that she’d taken on various Alliance bases, and there’s one of Luke and Wedge, where they’ve tucked themselves away into the corner of a hangar. Sitting side by side, bodies flush against each other, heads bowed in conversation. Poe had spent a lot of time examining it in his teenage years, wondering what they could have been discussing. He knows the odds are as good that they were just talking about tactics as they were about something serious, but there’s something to it that always nagged at Poe.

But for all the time Poe’s spent considering their relationship, Poe had never once thought that Wedge was still in love with Luke.

Looking at him now, it’s obvious. It’s written all over his face, in the way he talks about Luke. You couldn’t doubt it. Years upon years spent pining, quietly waiting for a time when they might be able to put aside duty for each other, and Wedge not knowing if Luke ever would, but making his peace with that. Part of Poe desperately wants to ask: why do you wait? How can you still have that faith that they’ll return to you, that they’ll still be alive even at the end of all this? How do you not spend every waking moment wanting to claw your skin off because you can’t contain it, the feelings that swell up inside of you, that drive you to do stupid reckless things that’ll probably get you killed.

Poe’s waited before, done his duty and not spoken up, and all that happened was the person he loved ended up dead.

But he can’t ask. He’s not sure he has that right. He can’t make a big deal of something that has likely been part of the fabric of Wedge’s reality for longer than Poe’s been alive. But he can’t stop the fidgeting, the way his hand clenches so hard he fingernails leave pales crescents in his palm.

“Hey,” Wedge says, so calmly, reaching over to uncurl Poe’s hand. If he’s confused, he doesn’t show it.

“How do you do it?” Poe finally asks, and just hopes that Wedge understands.

“With difficulty, some days,” Wedge admits. “I’ve made my peace with it. I don’t have room to second guess my choices. I just have to live with them.” Wedge drops Poe’s hand, but continues looking at him. Poe feels vulnerable beneath his stern gaze. “That doesn’t mean you have to do the same. Take the chance, learn from my mistakes.” He pulls back, ducking his head. “Leia always used to say that I should just tell him. But it was never the right time, and now—”

Now Luke’s been missing for fifteen years, Poe hears, though Wedge can’t actually get the words out.

“There’s never a right time, in a war,” Wedge says.

That, Poe can agree with. And he thinks of Finn, who he left unconscious in the medbay, who he’s never even had a chance to tell – not that Poe knows what he would say, doesn’t really know what he feels other than it’s something – and realises that he really would wait forever, and trust that Finn would come back to him. General Organa is right, once again. Flyboys, they are all the same.

“How do you live with it?” Poe asks, the question he didn’t dare to ask before, but given that Wedge started the conversation, he feels he can now.

“You just do,” Wedge replies. “I mean— It’s been so long now, that it just is. But you, whatever’s going on – and I’m not going to pretend I know what’s up, just that I know that look – you’re a smart kid, Poe. You’ve got this far. You’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll tell Luke you’re waiting for him,” Poe offers, about the only reply he can manage.

Wedge laughs, soft. “I think that, after all these years, if he doesn’t already know that, he’s never going to get it.”

“I’ll remind him, then,” Poe says.

Wedge smiles, tight lipped. He sits still on the lawn, thirty years of waiting held taught in his frame, and Poe catches a glimpse of what he could be, in twenty years time. There are worse people to be. And they sit in silence for a while, two pilots bound by service and dedication, until Wedge stands up, brushes away the weight of memories that he rarely dredges up, and offers a hand to Poe. “Now, Eiyaali doesn’t look like she’s coming back anytime soon, and I’m due a holo-call from Hobbie in half an hour. And, maker help me, I think he and Janson are on the same base. Shall we go in?”

Poe nods, smiles, and follows Wedge inside, to spend his afternoon watching three old starfighter pilots bicker about students and the fate of the Republic and what they’re going to get Tycho for his lifeday, all in the same breath.

.

The next morning, Wedge gets a call to say that the Echo of Hope is moving into the Threllin System, and should be there by the evening. If Poe and Eiyaali can’t get off the ground under their own speed, a squadron can come down and retrieve them. “What do you reckon, kids?” Wedge asks, over breakfast. “Your ships space-worthy?”

Poe looks to Eiyaali, and to BB-8, who both know an awful lot more about what condition the ships are in. “Enough to break atmo,” Eiyaali says, spooning the porridge concoction into her mouth. BB-8 beeps agreement, with some technical specifications about exactly what the limits are.

Poe shrugs. “Don’t look at me, you guys have been doing all the work.” He gestures at his sling, and grimaces slightly. That was one movement too many. “I’ve been a bit tied up.”

“Can you even fly like that?” Eiyaali asks.

Before Poe can summon up an answer, or Wedge can chip in, BB-8 lets out an angry string of beeps, declaring that they are perfectly capable of launching Black One and taking her up into atmo and docking with the ship on their own. Poe laughs at his droid’s enthusiasm. “What BB-8 said. I’ll manage.” He turns his head to where Wedge is sitting. “Unless you think it’ll make everything worse.”

Wedge clearly contemplates it for a moment, weighing the possibility of further damage to Poe’s arm against the inconvenience of having to get retrieval and a shuttle down. “I think you’ll be okay. But we could work something out if you aren’t alright with it.”

“I’ll manage.”

They spend the day waiting. Eiyaali spends the morning tinkering with her ship. Wedge suggests that Poe gets some more rest before retreating to do some work; there are lessons to be planned and comcalls to be made, and Wedge might be away from the Naval Academy but he’s not on leave. In the afternoon Poe goes over flight manoeuvres with Eiyaali, with Wedge chipping in from the sidelines every so often. He’s got a gift for cutting through the haze, breaking things down so that they’re understandable. Eiyaali has learnt more from Wedge in the days they’ve been down than in the weeks she’s spent learning from Poe.

Finally, as the light of the day starts to fade, they get the hail from the Echo of Hope; she’ll be in orbit around Crestia II in less than an hour. Poe and Eiyaali gather their things and get the ships fired up. Wedge helps load BB-8 into their socket at the back of Black One, then casts an eye over _Illenu Star_. “Are you sure you’ll be okay breaking atmo with her?” he asks Eiyaali, gesturing at the wing that still hasn’t been fixed.

“I’ve broken atmo with her in worse shape than this,” Eiyaali retorts, with a cheeky smile. Then she retreats inside her ship, and closes the hatch.

Poe looks up at his ship. “I’ll give you a hand,” Wedge says. He helps Poe into the cockpit, makes sure the straps and ejection system are all set. It all feels remarkably like being back at the Naval Academy, helped by the fact that Wedge is practised and deft at it (because, Poe remembers, this is what he does these days). BB-8 chirps in approval, running through the remaining pre-flight checks as Wedge tightens the straps.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join the Resistance?” Poe says, as Wedge leans over to double-check the instruments. “I know you have your reasons for staying with the Republic, and they’re good ones, I’m not arguing with that, but—” He flicks his head over to Eiyaali’s ship. “In two days you’ve made a better X-Wing pilot of her than I ever could. Even a couple of weeks of your time every so often would help.”

Poe’s aware he sounds desperate, but that’s what the Resistance is these days. General Organa is too proud to beg, but Poe isn’t above it, not if it means that his pilots might survive longer.

Wedge purses his lips, not happy about being pushed again. “I’ll think about it,” he says.

Poe knows he’ll have to accept it. “Thank you. For everything.” he says, pushing every ounce of sincerity into the statement. He means it. For Wedge being here, for pulling him and Eiyaali out of the mess they’d gotten themselves into. For talking, and encouraging, and not minding when Poe stuck his nose into old affairs. “And I’ll remember. When I see Luke, I’ll tell him he owes you a visit and an apology.”

“That’s if he’s still alive after Leia’s laid into him. But thanks.” Wedge smiles, a little awkward, and suddenly looks like the man from the old alliance holos Poe spent his childhood watching again. He hops off the X-Wing and walks back, standing just far enough away that Poe is clear for take-off.

Eiyaali’s voice comes over Poe’s headset, asking for clearance, and Poe grants it. BB-8 starts the launch sequence on Black One, and then they are rising, slow and steady, into the skies. Poe takes one last look out the window, at Wedge’s shrinking figure and the cabin he calls home. He can’t manage a salute, with his injured arm and all, but he imagines it anyway.

“Okay, boss, time to break atmo,” Eiyaali says before revving her engines and shooting off into the distance.

Radio communication protocol. That’s what he forgot. He’ll have to fix that when he’s back on duty. Or, he could just leave it to the current STAC. Thinking about it, it should definitely be Karé’s problem.

He sits back and lets himself get caught up in flying, the rush as he and Eiyaali break the atmospheric barrier, and the sight of the stars above.


	4. Chapter 4

Poe spends four days in the Echo of Hope’s medbay, under sedation.

Apparently, in addition to the broken arm – which had to be reset, despite Wedge and Eiyaali’s best efforts – and three cracked ribs, he had a case of shock and mild concussion. Upon reflection of Poe’s previous efforts, Eeshé had decided to not take any chances and had kept him there.

He’s still sleeping the worst of it off, the painkillers that were fed through his system as his arm was realigned, when General Organa shows up. She takes a seat beside Poe’s bed, with a datapad full of files in her hand. “You say he should be awake soon?”

Eeshé nods in confirmation. “Half an hour or so. You don’t have to wait. I could send someone to get you when he’s awake.”

Leia smiles and shakes her head. “It won’t be necessary. I can do my work as well here as I could in my office. I’ll wait.”

Eeshé potters around for another couple of minutes, letting the General have a chance to change her mind, but she leaves when it becomes clear that Leia is not moving.

So when Poe opens his eyes, only for the third time since arriving on the Echo of Hope, he’s greeted by the General, working studiously at his bedside. “General.” He struggles up into a sitting position, and regrets it immediately. His ribs still ache. It’s a good thing Kalonia isn’t here, because she’d lay into him for doing something so stupid. Eeshé will just sigh and roll her eyes. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Lie down, Dameron, before you do yourself more damage,” she chastises. She lays her datapad down on the little table by Poe’s head. There’s a trace of a smile about her. “You and Finn, you’re like two peas in a pod.”

“Finn’s awake?”

Leia presses a hand to Poe’s shoulder to prevent him from jumping up. “Yes. Not for long, mind. He’s doing alright, Kalonia’s with him at the new base, and Captain Kun’s being quite insistent about ensuring he’s being treated right. That would be your doing?” Leia raises an eyebrow, but it’s kind and teasing.

“I asked her to,” Poe says, voice soft. He allows himself to flop back into the bed, but he’s still thrumming with a nervous energy. Finn’s awake. _Awake_. And even though Karé’s doing the job he asked her to, he’s still bereft of any of the people he actually knows – Rey off to find Skywalker, Leia and Poe here. Poe hopes that he’s coping well. But Finn has already shown a remarkable ability to be adaptable. He’ll take on this challenge with all the spirit he’s thrown at everything else.

Meanwhile, Poe is down for the count and grounded, half a galaxy away.

“Finn’ll certainly not lack for company while she’s around,” Leia remarks, and that’s good. Poe can be at peace with that. “Meanwhile, Dameron, you’re grounded for at least six weeks while your injuries heal. No bacta. Medical are being cagey about your arm – I think they think you’ve got better chances of healing back to a hundred percent doing it the long way with a cast, with routine scans to check on the progress. Which means you can’t just go off on Medical Leave wherever you like.”

Poe grimaces. Six weeks, no flying, but without leave to go and do something else which will indulge his thrill-seeking tendencies. It sounds like hell. “I get to leave the medbay though, right?”

Leia laughs, and Poe thinks; at least he’s brought a smile to her face. At least the intense haunting look that she bore post-Starkiller is starting to leave. “Yes. I have work for you to do, when you’re up to it. But it’s important that you do heal right. Can’t have our best pilot down and out.”

“I’ll have you know that my injury record dwarfs some others I could mention,” Poe remarks.

Leia narrows her eyebrows, eyes stern. “And who would they be?”

“Commander Antilles. Snap,” Poe counts them off on his fingers. “Shall I mention the fact that I still have both my hands?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Leia sighs, with a shake of her head. She stands and retrieves her datapad. “Now, I’m going to let Eeshé run your physical. With any luck she’ll clear you for light duty. Then you can come and see me and I’ll tell you what you’ve let yourself in for, and maybe, if Eeshé says you were good and submitted to everything without moaning, we’ll see if we can get a commline to the base established and you can talk to Finn.”

That is bribery, of the lowest level, and Poe knows she’s basically treating him like a child – be good and you can have a sweet – but he can’t bring himself to care. He has a reputation amongst the medical staff for a reason. Besides, it’s Finn.

He thinks that the General winks at him as she leaves, but that would be so unbecoming of the General (and former Senator) that Poe thinks he must have imagined it.

.

“Poe!” Karé greets him in friendly tones and a bright smile. “How’s the arm?”

Poe grimaces and looks down at the cast and sling. Eeshé had cleared him for duty, but she’d been cautious about it; muttering about how light duty meant light and that if she saw him for anything but his regulated scans in the next six months she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight again. He’s taken it to heart, as had General Organa, because Poe’s pretty certain she’s putting him on diplomatic duty. The briefing she’d promised him had been moved after contact with the base had been established sooner than expected.

“Broken in three places,” Poe replies. BB-8 chirps up, listing his other injuries, like the cracked ribs and minor concussion. Karé glares at him. “But they think it’ll heal fine, so you can’t have the title of Best Resistance Pilot yet,” he continues.

She sighs, and shrugs. “Pah, who’d want that? Sounds like a right faff, much better to fly under the radar.” She smiles and steps back, taking the comlink with her. “Anyway, I’ve got someone who actually wants to talk to you.”

The comm flickers as Karé moves it, and Poe loses the picture momentarily. When it comes back, a smiling dark face greets Poe.

“Finn!” Poe’s face lights up, grinning from ear to ear. Beside him, BB-8 is as excited, screeching binary that Finn doesn’t understand and probably couldn’t interpret over the comlink anyway.

“Poe!” Finn’s face is as delighted, eyes shining.

“Buddy, how are you?” Poe asks.

Finn looks well, so much better than when Poe last saw him. Even over the holo-blue, Poe can tell that there is colour back in his cheeks. “Good! Real good.” Finn ducks his head for a moment before focusing back on Poe. “Everyone here is so nice! Dr Kalonia thinks I should be up and walking again soon.”

“Really?” It seems silly to be this excited, but Poe was there when they weren’t even sure Finn would live, when they weren’t sure whether he’d wake up. To hear that he could be walking only a short time after coming out of his coma is a miracle. “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah.” Finn tugs at his shirt – medbay issue – in what appears to be a nervous tick. “It’ll be a lot of hard work, she says, but everyone’s hopeful I’ll make a full recovery. I’m not much use in the meantime, though I told the General everything she asked about—”

“No, buddy, just look at me!” Finn looks genuinely pained about not being of use, so Poe cuts him off, raising his broken arm and waving it at the comlink. “I’m grounded for six weeks because of some stupid crash. Not going to exactly be doing any thrilling heroics here anytime soon. But the General’s still got things I can be doing. Besides, you got it way worse than I did. You should be resting.”

Finn looks doubtful, unconvinced, as if the idea of any time spent not working towards a clearly defined goal discomforts him. “I am. But there are still things I can do.”

“Sure there are,” Poe says, while BB-8 helpfully chimes in with a list of minor tasks that could be done without overexertion. It sounds like an officially approved list from the medical staff, enough so that Poe thinks BB-8 is just reading off the list of things Eeshé has said he could do.

Finn smiles. “Slow down, I didn’t get any of that.” BB-8 beeps reproachfully. Learning binary is definitely on the list of things one can do from the medbay. “Yeah, I’ll work harder on understanding binary. You should come back and help me, BB-8.” Poe’s droid agrees, with fierce clarity, and it pains Poe that returning to Finn isn’t the next thing they’re going to do. “Do you know when you’ll be back?” Finn asks, hopeful.

Poe shakes his head. “No, sorry. I’m about two weeks behind on what’s going on, which doesn’t help, but I know the General has plans for me. But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He means it, and he hopes Finn can see it. That he wants to be back with Finn, but that if General Leia Organa thinks he can do good elsewhere then that’s where he’ll go, and that doesn’t mean he won’t be thinking of Finn all the time. But when Finn smiles again, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up,” Poe adds. “Rey made me promise – promise that I’d be there for you before she left to find Skywalker. But then I had orders, and this was the way I could do the most good. It must have been awful, waking up somewhere unfamiliar, without anyone you knew.”

“I managed,” Finn replies. “Waking up in the first place was nice. And I knew some people – I met Kalonia, and Kaydel – and the General was there. She’s really—” Finn pauses, searching for the right word to describe Leia. It’s a difficult task; the woman is so many things, fierce and kind, absolute but diplomatic, so finding something that sums up everything about her is complicated, to say the least. “Incredible,” Finn settles on. “And I’ve had Karé. She’s been really good to me.”

“I should hope so, I asked her to be,” Poe replies.

“Thanks,” Finn says, looking genuinely pleased. “She’s been telling stories of your old exploits – did you really do a run on a First Order station all by yourself?”

Poe flushes. “I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t expecting them to be there.” He scrabbles – Karé wasn’t there so she’d be going off the mission report, and that was the act that got him recruited for the Resistance, so Karé has no doubt made it out to be more awe-inspiring than it was. “Don’t believe everything she says!”

“Are you calling me a liar, Dameron?” Karé’s face pops back into frame. “I can’t have you defaming my good name.”

Finn laughs in the background.

“Now, I’m sorry to break this up, but Kalonia has more tests she wants to run, so Finn’s going to have to scram.”

“Alright,” Poe says. It feels too soon; they’ve only been chatting briefly, and it’s just not enough. For once, it would be nice to have a conversation that wasn’t torn apart by duty and war. “I’ll see you soon, Finn.” He waves.

“Bye, Poe.” Poe only sees a couple of seconds of Finn’s face before the comlink is taken away.

He moves to hang up, but then Karé’s voice comes over, clear and calculating. “Stay on the line mister, you’re not getting off that easy.”

Poe groans. He can’t see Karé – just the blur of what he assumes is her hand – but he can imagine the determined glint in her eye, the set of her face when she catches news of any gossip around base. It’s a couple of minutes before she comes back into view, and the background is now what looks like an old duty locker – probably hers. At least she’s left the medbay and the earshot of Finn.

“You’re hopeless,” she says, settling on the bunk. “I mean, I get it now – Finn really is great – but you had to, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Karé,” Poe says, even though he can have a very good guess at it.

Karé sighs and flops over. Her comlink protocol is awful. “You’re lucky Iolo is still stuck at the ass-end of nowhere. He’d be worse about this.” She sits up suddenly, drawing her knees in and looks very seriously at Poe. “You gave him your jacket, Poe.”

“Technically, he saved it from the wreckage, and I told him he could keep it,” Poe says, even though he knows the argument is weak.

“Muran gave you that jacket,” Karé continues. “You’ve barely let it out your sight since he died.”

That’s an exaggeration, but it’s also not exactly wrong. Poe had a horrible reputation for managing to lose – or rather, give away – clothes. To the point where he’d often end up not having the essentials. After having to requisition a fourth flight jacket, Muran had taken matters into his own hands. Produced a beautiful old alliance jacket, perfectly worn in, and tailored to fit Poe perfectly. He’d added the distinctive red stripes so Poe’d never mislay it.

It had been a much appreciated gift purely for the amount of time and effort Muran had put into it. After he’d died, and Poe had never really stopped feeling guilty about it, he’d clung to the jacket for the memories.

“Also,” Karé adds. “Testor told me about your incident on the fairway. ‘It looks better on you’? Seriously, Poe?”

There’s like zero chance Jessika actually heard that, but BB-8 did and Poe knows his droid. Poe sinks his head into his hands. He knows she has a point. He knows that none of this makes him look good.

“Are you in love with him?”

“No.” Karé instantly protests in response, and Poe holds up a hand. He needs to explain. “I’m not. Not yet. But…” He takes a deep breath. Admitting it always makes it more real. “I could be. Easily. I’m probably half way there. But I can’t be. He’s a former Stormtrooper, who’s known barely a week of conscious freedom. I can’t put this on him. He needs time to form his own impressions, his own relationships, not just imprint on me like a baby bantha just because I was the first person he knew outside the First Order. He can’t be that much past twenty. I’m—” Poe doesn’t necessarily think of himself as old, but it remains that he most likely is a significant number of years older than Finn. “I’m not the right person for him right now. And besides, I think he’s in love with Rey.”

“She was the first person he asked for when she woke up. He wouldn’t stop, not until we managed to convince him she was alive and safe.”

“She left him a message.”

Karé nods. “But Kalonia had to clear him before we could show it to him. There was some worry that the comlink flicker could cause a seizure or something. And he saw it and I think it helped, but it’s clear he still misses her.”

“Exactly,” Poe says.

“I can see why. I mean, from all accounts, she’s incredible,” Karé says.

“I know,” Poe says. As if Finn’s initial enthusiasm wasn’t enough, he’s heard his share of tales from BB-8. And what she did, what she’s already done, her potential, that’s enough; she’ll be a legend one day.

He doesn’t mean anything by it, but Karé smiles wickedly. “Oh, I see, that’s how it is. Well, that’s one solution.”

Poe splutters. “Karé, she’s even younger! And I have no idea what her feelings are in this whole mess.” He wrings his hands. “Just… They’ve both got to get to a place where they can make an informed decision. Only then can I let what I want into play.”

“You’re a good man, Poe,” Karé says. “Better than most. Just—” She hesitates for a moment. “Be careful. Of your own heart. You’re allowed to want things, you’re allowed to love people – and love them deeply, not just five second flings. And don’t wait forever.”

She smiles, but Poe doesn’t see it. His eyes are closed, memories heavy behind his eyelids. Of Muran’s joking laugh the night before he climbed into his X-Wing for the last time. Of waking up on Jakku and realising that he’s lost Finn. All the people he’s loved and never told, lost before he got a chance to tell.

And then he thinks of Wedge, who’s spent thirty years just quietly loving and waiting, and wonders if that’ll be his fate.

Poe doesn’t have that much patience.

“I will, Karé,” he says.

“Good,” she replies. “Now go. I’m sure the General’s waiting on you, and you know better than to do that.”

“Indeed.” Poe stands up, stretches, tries to shake off the gravity of the conversation. “Keep looking after Finn for me. And keep safe.”

“Always, Commander.”

The comlink switches off and Karé is gone in a flicker of blue light. Poe pockets it, and leaves.

.

Poe’s right. Leia asks him to accompany her to the New Republic Senate, where the last remnants of the old government are attempting to create a working legislature.

The Echo of Hope takes them most of the way into the core, before they leave on a small diplomatic shuttle. It’s a small party; General Organa herself, C-3PO, Kaydel Ko Connix, and a couple of guards. They don’t want to make an imposition on the Republic, or a threat – they are still technically an external military force, even though that might be about to change.

They land on Corellia, where the temporary senate has elected to convene. It’s one of the few places that has the facilities to accommodate such a large party of dignitaries, with the added benefit of being well defended – the Corellians who came to power after the Empire fell never quite forgot how easily they’d been taken over, and had taken steps to ensure it would never happen again.

Poe expects a reasonable number of people to be there to meet them. Despite the fact that he hates politics, he spent a lot of time as a kid watching Leia in the senate, negotiating and winning votes, saw her greeted by adoring fans and concerned political allies. It shows him that he’s a little out of touch with how things are working these days when there’s just one person there. A tall woman in elegant dark robes who Poe doesn’t immediately recognise, though she looks familiar enough that he thinks he should.

“General Organa,” she says. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Glad to be here,” Leia replies. “Now, what’s going on?”

Beside Poe, Kaydel Ko Connix has stopped stock-still in awe. She clearly does know whoever it is in front of them. Poe elbows her, noting that Leia is already striding off, talking a mile a minute to their new acquaintance, and they need to be moving. “Come on,” Poe says.

Kaydel shakes herself. “Sorry,” she says. She steps forward. “It’s just – that’s Lin Llei Caeddan.” Poe notes how she says the name; breathy over the ls, the harsh cresh, the lilt of an aye and an eh sound before it gives way to a ‘than’. And then Poe knows who this woman is. Caeddan was one of the Rebel Alliance’s best spies, spending eight years undercover with the Empire. While she sat in on several war trials, and was one of the advisers on the Galactic Concordance, Caeddan has kept a low profile since. Some have gone as far as to brand her as excessively paranoid. Her decision to return to politics, even as an observer, is a bad sign.

“She’s incredible. I’ve always wanted to meet her.” There is admiration in every note of her voice. For Kaydel, Caeddan was her childhood hero, just as Leia was to Poe.

It doesn’t take long to catch Leia and Lin up, coming back to the middle of their conversation. “The Senate’s a mess. It’s been hastily cobbled together from the few senators who survived the destruction of the Hosnian System. We’ve got junior representatives alongside constitutional monarchs, and no one has any idea who has power and who hasn’t. We’re still lacking a chancellor – the delegation from Tarsunt are arguing that they should be allowed to see out Chancellor Villecham’s term. Amazingly, I’m yet to find a precedent from the Old Republic about what to do if the Chancellor and his immediate successors are all killed.”

“And what about the Fleet?” Leia asks.

“We’ve got representatives, of course, but no one really high enough up to enforce a decision. I understand that they’re still scrabbling for leadership, but not as badly as the Republic is. Still,” Lin sighs, as they reach the doors. “It’s not a good spot for them to be in. We need strong decisive leadership, not year-long debates about technicalities.”

“I agree,” Leia says.

“Maybe you can knock some sense into their heads. For everyone’s sake.”

Leia nods, mouth pursed, determined but unsure of whether she still has the ability, the weight of power she once did. A guard steps forward to open the great doors, revealing a small corridor leading to the main chamber. Two representatives from CorSec are standing guard, and Poe’s sure that there are probably others hidden where he can’t see them. They insist on a weapons check, and everything is handed over; one of their guards elects to stay behind fully armed in case they need him.

“Here’s where I take my leave,” Lin says. “Seeing as how I’m here under the guise of impartiality, after all.” She laughs at the thought. “Got to keep up appearances. I’ll speak to you later, Leia – I want to pick your brain about this Stormtrooper defection.”

Poe tenses at the mention of Finn, and wonders how Lin heard about it – but then he remembers how she made it her business to know everything back in the days of the Empire. She probably still does the same thing now.

Kaydel watches with rapt attention as Lin walks away, her outer robes trailing along the floor in a way that is decidedly not practical. Leia turns to the pair of them, steeling herself up. She clearly hates the idea of having to enter that senate chamber as much as Poe does. “Listen. Kaydel, stick with me – we want to give the impression that you’re my aide, it’ll pay off later when the other junior delegates start telling you things. Poe, you’re on your own. Work the floor, make good use of some of that charm. You’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand if you play a bit naive. Most of this lot probably won’t be able to resist explaining it all to you, and they’ll give their biases away in the process. I need to know as much as I can; who holds power, who will stand with us, who’s going to make our war difficult. The smallest thing could be key.”

Kaydel and Poe nod. They’ve both been briefed, to the best of Leia’s ability, about how things stood before the destruction of Hosnian Prime, but now the situation is likely completely different. “And be careful. There will almost certainly be people in there with allegiances to the First Order. Let’s try not to piss them off.” They nod again. “Dameron, I’m looking at you. Don’t let them provoke you.”

“I won’t,” Poe says, and he means it. He’ll try his very best to keep his temper in check.

The hall quiets when they enter, a break in conversation befitting the arrival of General Organa, but it doesn’t last long. The Senator on the floor lifts his head to acknowledge Leia, then goes straight back to arguing. Leia makes her way into the throes of sitting Senators, Kaydel trailing behind her, while Poe makes for the balcony that surrounds the centre space. He’ll get a better vantage point there, able to observe the proceedings, get a grasp of the situation before he begins to mingle.

From the conversation, as Poe understands it, things are not going well. In his naval days, he was led to believe that any incursion into Republic or First Order space by the other party would constitute an act of aggression that would lead to war. It was why he’d been forbidden from pursuing the _Yissira Zyde_ into First Order territory. However, he’d thought that the destruction of seven planets would be a breaking point. Apparently is isn’t. The Senate is still arguing about whether or not they should pursue a course of war. Poe shakes his head. He’ll never understand politicians. War might not be pretty, but there are things worth fighting for.

“Poe!” A voice calls, bright, across the balcony. Poe turns, thinking that there can only be one person here who would know his name on sight.

“Luta!” he replies, just as joyous. She pulls him into a quick embrace, pressing lips to his cheek as they part. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I was lucky that I was reporting back to Onderon when Hosnian was hit,” Luta says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been. And you, you’re alright too?” She eyes the cast on his arm with a degree of suspicion.

“Crashed my bird on a training run,” Poe says as way of explanation. “It was stupid, that’s how I landed this job. Think it’s the General’s way of making me think twice before I do anything that ridiculous again.”

He doesn’t mention any of the rest; how he was captured and could have died, crash-landed on a planet and could have died, flew against a weapon of mass destruction and could have died. It’s enough that he’s alive.

“And you’re here with her?” Luta asks. Poe grabs her hand and drags her over to the edge of the balcony, gesturing at General Organa, standing below, looking incredulous at whatever the latest politician is saying. Connix is a step behind her, eagerly taking notes on a datapad, looking every inch a senatorial aide instead of an army controller. “Of course you are,” she says, under her breath.

“Tell me,” Poe begins. “What’s the situation? Where do we stand?”

Luta folds her arms, resting on the edge of the balcony. “It’s not good.” She purses her mouth, thinking of the words. “We thought – and we were so sure, Poe – that if the First Order launched an outright attack on the Republic, that would be the end of the debate. Concordance be damned, we’d go to war because there’s a limit.” She sighs. “But their act of war was to destroy the government of the Republic. Now, we’ve been forced into a position where there’s an argument about whether we even have the right to declare war on the First Order, if this motley lot of us has any power to make decisions at all. We need a new government, a new chancellor, but I don’t know if there’s anyone amongst us who can stand up and do what needs to be done.” She pauses a moment. Poe doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have enough of a read on the political situation yet to formulate an appropriate response. “We need to be taking moves to defend ourself, and enabling the Resistance to strike back against the First Order. But there’s reluctance amongst a lot of systems to break the status quo. Tempers are high, Poe,” she says, glancing at him. “I think this will be the end of the Republic as we know it. We won’t be able to reconcile everyone’s differences of opinion.”

“You think it will come to that?”

“I do,” Luta replies. “Even if we manage to get this chamber to a place where it actually starts making decisions, it’s inevitable that there will be systems that are unhappy with the choices made. And yes, there has always been discontent in the Senate, but right now the Republic is especially vulnerable. There are people who think, given that the Republic could not even defend its own seat of power, how can we expect it to defend them? They’re a minority,” Luta clarifies, seeing the look of horror on Poe’s face. “But discontent is certainly growing. Not many are muttering the word ‘secession’ yet, but there are an awful lot of systems thinking it.”

“If you think this will all end in destruction, why are you still here?” Poe asks, gesturing to everyone below.

“Because we have to try!” Luta’s voice is fierce, and Poe sees a trace of the woman he used to know, back at the Naval Academy, before she left to pursue a political career back on Onderon. “You left the Republic; you’re considered a traitor by some, but you left because you knew that it was the only way to help. I think the Republic could still do some good, but it’ll take work. And there comes a point – there always comes a point – where we might have to tear the whole thing down.”

Poe remembers what his parents said – that their greatest fear was that everything they fought for would be for nothing. If the Republic falls, those fears would have come true. “You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t want to mean it,” Luta replies. She considers something for a moment. “Tell General Organa she has my support. And that I’m working hard to find a solution to this mess, one that involves keeping the Republic intact but giving the Resistance the resources it needs to battle the First Order. But she – and you – need to be aware. That it might not be possible.”

“I’ll tell her,” Poe says, and watches as Luta wades back into the fray of the Senate.

He already hates this assignment.


	5. Chapter 5

Being at the senate is exhausting.

All these people do is talk, about concepts that are entirely foreign to Poe. Minutiae of treaties signed twenty years ago, details of tax regimes. Bickering and squabbling between politicians who should be allies, who should all be working for the greater good. He does what Leia asks of him and charms politicians, working out who is likely to throw support behind them, and who still needs convincing.

It’s a relief when he checks his datapad the next morning (Karé’s been sending him reports, ostensibly about the ongoing restoration of the Starfighter Corps, but are in reality a play by play of how well Finn’s integrating into the Resistance) and sees that Leia wants to see him. Whatever it’s about, it’ll be better than listening to the politicians drone on for a couple of hours.

The Corellian Hall they’re currently occupying is massive, and has corridors upon corridors of offices and conference rooms. Poe weaves his way around senators and their attachés, making his way upstairs to where the Resistance and their sympathisers have located their base of operations. They’ve commandeered most of one of the upper levels, and it’s already bustling.

He hears someone say “Poe!” and sees Kaydel Ko Connix heading towards him, looking bright even though Poe’s fairly certain she’s operating on an average of four hours sleep. “Morning Kaydel,” he replies. “Can’t stop, the General wants me.”

“Yeah, about that.” Kaydel sticks her tongue out in concentration as she flicks through the pile of files in her hands. Eventually she finds what she’s looking for, and hands Poe a keycard. “Urgent business. She’s left everything for you in Caeddan’s office. I’m told it’s self explanatory, but I haven’t a clue what it’s about.”

“I’m sure I’ll work it out,” Poe shrugs. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Kaydel replies. Then she leaves, chasing down the Felucian Representative who they’ve just convinced to come over.

Poe stands still for a moment, then beats his retreat. Caeddan’s office is on a different floor. She’s still maintaining the illusion of political neutrality, and despite the fact that Poe thinks, given her history, it’s obvious that she would side with Resistance, it seems to be working. Whether that’ll last the darling pilot of the Resistance going into her office is another story, though. But Poe’s been given orders, so there must be something to it. He lets himself in, glad that the corridor is quiet.

Lin’s office is… something. It’s small, and made smaller by the sheer amount of stuff in it. A galactic holomap is projected against one wall, systems colour coded with the way Lin thinks they’ll vote. Another wall has multiple pieces of flimsiplast stuck to it, as she tries to problem solve something. There’s a couple of chairs in one corner, and a desk in the other. And on the desk, there’s a small stack of files, with a data-chip on top. A note, in what Poe recognises as Leia’s handwriting accompanies it.

_Poe – Caeddan’s been doing some digging. We think that you might find all this interesting. I’ll talk to you later – General Organa_

Poe takes the files to one of the chairs, plugs the chip into his datapad, and starts reading.

He’s not sure he understands it all at first. There’s a bunch of data on the population spike after Endor, and then notes about a number of worlds where it didn’t happen. Poe notes that they’re all worlds that came under First Order control. Records of the old GAR and the clone-troopers. A clone soldier, listed only as CT-7567, talking about the control chips that enabled Order 66. An Alliance doctor’s report on the clone’s biology and training. Records of the interviews Caeddan made with Alliance leadership after she came in, about everything she knew about Imperial Stormtrooper Academies.

And then Poe opens another file on his datapad and it’s Finn. Finn, talking about growing up in the First Order, his training, his experiences. There’s hours worth of footage, but Poe turns it off after three minutes. He can’t hear it, not in this form. Finn isn’t telling him any of these things, it’s an invasion, he can’t sit and watch his friend recount the facts of his life as if they aren’t horrifying.

Luckily, Leia Organa is a smart woman, and has noted the salient points of what Finn told them in another file.

There’s some kind of relief that comes from seeing the facts laid out straight like this. Finn doesn’t have a chip in his brain. As far as the doctors can tell, there’s no latent trigger waiting to be activated. (Poe’s slightly concerned at how thoroughly they tested for it, but he wasn’t around for Order 66. There are two members of their medical staff that were.) The training for Stormtroopers in the First Order bears more resemblance to the training programme on Kamino in its thoroughness than it does to the lackadaisical way the Empire trained Stormtroopers, who were little more than cannon fodder. There are fears that the reconditioning procedure that Finn describes could be based on information gathered off the clone chips, but no proof.

The oddities that Poe noticed in Finn’s baseline readings confirm that the First Order’s been attempting to tinker with genetics, but there appears to be no lasting damage done. Slightly better reflexes, a little bit of extra strength, the ability to endure longer; but nothing that grants an overwhelming advantage. If the First Order were drugging the food – which, given Finn’s descriptions of the taste and what was provided, seems likely – it was out of his system before the Resistance medical staff could take a reading.

Poe’s not quite sure how long he sits there, just taking it all in. But it has to be a long time.

He’s still buried in thought when the door opens, and Lin and Leia enter. Both of them their faces are schooled into perfect neutrality, and Poe has no idea if it’s an act. Lin veers off, going to her desk and silently whittling through her messages, while Leia comes to sit in the chair adjacent to Poe’s.

“All this—” Poe starts, but he’s not really sure how to carry on. It’s horrible, utterly grim, going reading what Finn’s been through, but also not surprising. And so far, Finn seems to have come out the other end of it alright.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Leia nods in agreement. “I wasn’t intending on being elsewhere this morning, but I did intend to let you go through it at your own pace.”

“About that,” Poe says. “Where were you? Can I ask that, or is it a grand secret?”

Leia smiles. “Not this time. We finally convinced a couple of key officials that, while the election of a new chancellor might be able to wait until all systems have elected new senators, the chamber does need moderating. Otherwise we’ll never get anything done.”

“They’re voting in someone impartial as we speak. By the end of the day we might actually get this chamber moving.” Lin looks up from her desk, chiming in. “But don’t worry about that. I’m not here to talk politics, not at the moment.” She moves her chair, brings it out from behind the desk so she can sit facing Poe. “I want to talk to you about Finn.”

Poe looks at her closely. He remembers her comment about the Stormtrooper defection when they arrived, and how callously she seemed to handle that. But all this work, trying to piece together an identity for Finn, to know what’s happened to him, and why it happened; he knows she has to be behind a lot of it. And he heard the comments she made about the Stormtrooper programme, how helpless she’d felt.

So he decides to trust her. “That’s okay,” he says. “But can I ask you something first?”

“Of course,” she says.

“Why does this matter to you?”

She pauses for a moment, and Poe suddenly sees the years on her face, the weight of the world that she balanced on her shoulders. She takes a deep breath. “When I was in the ISB – I wasn’t a normal agent. I spent a lot of time keeping records up to date, which is how I got most of the information I gave to the Alliance. One of my first tasks, when I joined the empire, was to archive the list of Stormtrooper deaths.” She folds her hands over, worrying her left thumb over the joint between her thumb and forefinger on the other hand. “It was just a list of numbers. And it went on and on and on. And sometimes the numbers would be consecutive and you’d be able to see where whole units had been wiped out. I’ve seen a lot of death lists over the years, but none have been quite as horrific as those. I’ve looked at the GAR ones, and even they list the nicknames next to the dead if they were known. But the Empire didn’t bother. And those Stormtroopers, the Empire’s Stormtroopers, they were people, they had names. The earliest cadets came to the academy at thirteen, fourteen. They weren’t ripped away from their families like Finn was. Some of them would have had people waiting for them.”

Lin’s shaking. “I tried – while I was still with the Empire, but especially afterwards – to find out who they were. And I managed, for a handful of them, to track down their relatives. And they knew, of course, but no one had ever told them anything. There are so many I couldn’t find, who’ll remain nameless forever. I know that isn’t my failing, it’s the Empire, but it still doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Poe doesn’t know what to say. He knows that weight, of trying to honour the dead. “But you – you wrestled Finn from the First Order, gave him back a name, a chance to find himself.”

“He did that himself,” Poe says. “I mean, okay, I gave him a name, but no one should be just a string of numbers. He’s a person. He’s a good man.”

“I agree,” Lin replies. “There’s something special about someone who can walk away from all that. It takes a remarkable amount of strength. But now we know it can be done.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Poe sees Leia nod. He knows why. Finn is the first defector they’ve had out of the First Order. Now they know why: the First Order brainwashes their troops into believing that a life outside could never be an option, that their only purpose is to die for the glory of the Order. But Finn overcame that.

“Finn’s only one man,” Poe replies.

“It only takes one man to inspire a revolution,” Lin says. “You met him. You trusted him in moments. I want to ask you: do you think he’s that man?”

Poe knows he could be. Finn is brightness and sunshine and light and absolute proof that where one has come from doesn’t have to indicate where one goes. But to answer for him – that feels impossible. Poe can’t know what Finn wants. Would this boy, who just needed a pilot, and fought only to save his friend, really want to be the face of a revolution? Poe can’t speak for him.

“I think he could be,” Poe says. “But I also think that revolutions aren’t made. Finn has to decide this for himself.”

Poe sees Leia smile and knows he’s said the right thing.

“I don’t think anyone could make Finn do anything,” Lin says. She turns her hands over, playing for time. “This might be personal, but— tell me about him? About why you believed?”

And so Poe does. Tells her about being on the Finalizer, and knowing that no one would be coming for him. Seeing kind eyes in a face where he never expected them. Every moment since then, when Finn has proven just how brilliant he is. Because he can see the look on Lin’s face, and knows that she’s looking for the same thing they all are: someone to believe in. Once it was the Jedi, but Rey and Luke are so far away now, practically intangible. They aren’t real, in this moment. Finn is. Finn can be the person they all believe in.

Poe knows he’s probably giving himself away. That Lin and Leia must both be aware of the way he feels about Finn. They have the grace not to say anything.

Eventually, a comlink goes off. It’s Lin’s. “My apologies,” she says, getting up. “The Chamber’s voted. And they’ve actually reached a decision.” She looks incredulous. “I have to go. Poe, thank you for this. I mean it.” She walks out of her own office with remarkable haste, vanishing in seconds.

Leia scoffs, half under her breath. “She’s gone and done it now.”

“Huh?”

“The Chamber needing a moderator?” Leia prompts Poe. “The candidate on everyone’s lips was her. The Senate just became her responsibility.”

Having watched the Senate bickering for weeks now, Poe would not wish that job on anyone. But Caeddan has the skill, and the patience, to navigate the political minefield. Poe doesn’t. “General,” he says, looking at her and knowing what he needs to ask, but not quite how to ask it. “I’d like to request a return to base. That’s where I’m needed.”

Leia considers Poe and for a terrifying moment Poe thinks he’s screwed up. But she’s watched him quietly, must know exactly why he wants to return. She smiles. “Yes. I think so too.”

.

General Organa is remarkably quiet about who she’s sending to retrieve Poe. Whoever it is, they were already on course to Corellia with reinforcements before Poe requested his own return (Leia, after almost tearing the head off the leading Tarsunt Delegate, had realised that she needed Statura’s guidance. He’s coming in with a handful of mid-ranking officials to aid the negotiations.) Poe asks her – he knows almost all the pilots, wants to know who he’s going to be stuck with on the journey back – but Leia keeps her own counsel, and refuses to tell him.

When Poe sees Iolo waving at him from the top of the transport ramp, he’s too overjoyed to really care.

“Iolo!” Poe cries, racing towards his friend. They meet in an undignified embrace – Poe’s arm is still in its cast and he can’t really hug back properly – but it’s been three months and Iolo is comfort and reassurance and Poe doesn’t really care about making a scene. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Iolo replies, with a hand clasped on Poe’s shoulder. His eyes rake up and down Poe, taking him all in. Poe wonders how much he’s heard, how much he’s been told about what happened to Poe while he was away. “Now come on, lets get out of here. General Organa will never forgive us if news gets out about a ruckus.”

So Poe follows Iolo onto the ship. It’s an old pile of rusted bolts held together with spacer’s tape and hope, and barely flies; Poe can hear Iolo sweet-talking her up and out of Corellia’s atmosphere, and the jump to hyperspace certainly isn’t smooth. But they’re cruising soon enough, and Iolo comes to sit on the bench beside Poe.

“Thanks for rescuing Uxthi,” he says.

“It was no problem,” Poe replies – because it wasn’t, really. It was stupidity and bad luck that saw him shot down, and the days he’d got to spend with Wedge were a fair-trade off. “How is she? I haven’t spoken to her since I told Bja to jump in the middle of the battle.”

“She’s fine, no worse for wear – though she could have been if you guys hadn’t got to her. I keep trying to knock some sense into that girl’s head, but it never works.” Iolo’s easy going smile betrays him; he clearly doesn’t care what Uxthi does as long as she stays alive. “I hear you had an encounter with Commander Antilles, though. What’s he like these days?”

Poe thinks for a moment. “Older,” he says. “Calmer too.” Poe doesn’t want to say too much, and give away all of Wedge’s secrets, but he also wants to be honest with Iolo. “Remember at the academy? He always seemed like he was only just keeping it together, like it would only take one thing to make him fall to pieces completely.” That had been after Luke had vanished, after Wedge had given up the search. “He still won’t join the Resistance, but he gave the impression that he was pretty much working for us at this point anyway.”

“He might want to actually tell the General that,” Iolo comments.

“I think she knows?” Poe screws up his face. “I’ve always thought that the six-monthly call in we did with him was just to check that he was still alive and well and not vanished off to a planet in the middle of nowhere like everyone else, as much as it was about recruiting him.” Poe shrugs. “Anyway, the General has a lot on her plate.”

“Yeah, yeah, politics, the fall of the Republic, yadayada.” Iolo waves his hand. “We have politicians for a reason Poe, and I’m a pilot.” Suddenly, Iolo leans forward, looking earnest, elbows on knees, chin in hand. “What about you? How have you been? I mean Karé gave me an overview before I got shipped out again – you got captured by the First Order, adopted a Stormtrooper and a Scavenger, blew up Death Star 3.0 and saved the day, is that about right?”

Poe groans. It’s such a Karé explanation. None of it’s technically untrue, it just misses all the pertinent details. “Something like that.”

Iolo quirks an eyebrow. “And this Stormtrooper, name of Finn, you just happened to give him Muran’s jacket?”

Poe puts his head in his hands. “If I say he technically retrieved it from the wreckage of a TIE fighter when he thought I was dead, does that make it any better?”

“Nope,” Iolo chirps. “Karé and Testor dobbed you in. ‘Keep it, it suits you?’ I think you said?”

Poe flops onto the bench, exhausted. He knows there’s no winning this argument; if he’s lucky he’ll be able to turn it back on Iolo and make a pointed comment about Uxthi Hrkant, but even that’s a long shot. And this is a long flight, back out of the core to the Resistance’s new home.

So Poe bears it.

Eventually, Iolo goes to navigate the ship out of hyperspace and through the landing protocols. Poe observes all this from the cockpit door, half-hoping that Iolo screws it up somewhere just so Poe has something he can hold above the man’s head. No such luck, though, because Iolo does it perfectly, landing them in a valley nestled between high mountains.

Poe grabs his bag, containing the few possessions he’s managed to keep between Moshmani and Crestia II and Corellia (which is to say, not many) and follows Iolo out, into the new base. Tucked away in a mountain crevice, built for stealth, it’s very different from the open greenery of D’Qar. It’ll take a bit of getting used to. But the people are still the same; ground crew and engineering working on Starfighters, a couple swarming towards them to take care of the transport. Poe looks around. He’s not expecting a welcoming committee but there usually is someone there to meet them, from command or one of his pilots or someone.

Then he hears the yell of “Move, nerfherder!” in a tone which is unmistakably Karé’s and turns his head to see a barrage of people heading for him. Karé, by the grace of her long legs, gets there first, wrapping up both Poe and Iolo into a fierce hug. She smacks kisses to the top of their heads – mostly just to prove that she’s taller than them – and crushes them tight before releasing them.

She looks at Poe’s arm, still in the cast, and then shrugs. “You can still keep up, right, Poe?”

She instigates the handshake, a snap of hands which was designed for four but still works (just barely) with three (or, two and a half, taking Poe’s broken arm into account). “Rapier Squadron, reunited,” Iolo says, smiling. Poe beams back at his friends. It’s the first time in six months that they’ve all been in the same place, and he’s missed them.

“… What was that?” a voice says, confused, and Poe turns to see Finn, wrinkling his nose as he watches their antics.

Pava is hanging off Finn’s shoulder, and she shakes her head. “It’s just some dumb thing they do. Ignore it.” Then she pushes him forward, and Finn steps hesitantly towards Poe.

“Hey buddy,” Poe says, and uses his good arm to fold Finn into an embrace. He feels the other man sag in his arms, his comforting warmth – such a contrast to when Poe was clutching his wrecked body, just come off Starkiller – and just lets himself breathe. “It’s good to see you up and about,” he says as they part. Finn looks well; better than Poe had dared dream he would be, when he spent all that time by Finn’s bedside wondering if he was ever going to be alright again.

Then BB-8 pushes between them, indignant about the amount of time they’ve had to spend apart. Poe kneels, and brushes a hand over BB-8’s head. All the scratches and damage from Crestia II has gone; someone’s been taking good care of his droid while he was away. “Yeah, I missed you too buddy. But I’m sure everyone took good care of you!” A response, in the affirmative, mentioning the care of Finn specifically, though there is a grumbling complaint about his binary not being as good as it could be.

Poe looks up at Finn, and he knows the look on his face must be radiant, and that he’ll never hear the end of it from Karé or Iolo or Jess. “BB-8 was just saying how good you were—”

“And something about how my binary still needs work?” Finn comments, finishing Poe’s sentence. “Yeah, I know, I have mastered that one, you’ve said it enough times!” he says, in response to BB-8’s beep. “It wasn’t a problem. It was good to just be doing something, for once.”

“Speaking of,” Karé says, shepherding Snap though the crowd. He’s pushing a hover chair. “Enough standing, hot-shot, you know what Kalonia said.”

Finn settles in the chair without a fight. “Not to over-exert myself, I remember.” He shuffles a bit, trying to get comfortable; the chair must still be unfamiliar. “Come on, come on, let’s get you inside!” he says to Poe. “There’s so much I’ve got to show you!”

Karé loops her arm through Poe’s, as the entire crowd follows Finn back into the base. “Don’t knock it, he’s been excited about showing you round ever since we got news that you were coming back,” she whispers in his ear. “Even though this base looks exactly the same as every other base we’ve ever been stationed on.”

“Karé, do you have that little faith in me?” Poe whispers back. It’s clear, as they enter the main hangar, that Finn really is going to take Poe on a guided tour of the entire facility, but his enthusiasm is infectious and joyous. Honestly, Poe can’t help but get swept up in it. He doesn’t know how anyone couldn’t. And true enough, as Finn takes him round, showing him corridors and the mess and offices, the new command center. There are a lot of people who incline their heads as Finn talks, eager to hear what he has to say. It’s nice, to see Finn starting to fit into the Resistance.

(And it doesn’t matter that Karé is right, that the base does look the same as every other one he’s ever been to, apart from the rock shelving that makes up the ceilings. Poe spends most of his time watching Finn anyway.)

“I’m really glad you’re back,” Finn says, at the door of the med-bay. He’s got physical therapy to attend; Poe should probably go and report to command. “And that you’re okay.”

“I’m always okay, buddy,” Poe replies, with a smile and a clasp of his hand on Finn’s shoulder.

Finn looks at him like he knows it’s not true – and he does, knowing how close Poe came to breaking and dying even though he didn’t. But he elects not to say anything, and the moment is disrupted by a med-droid coming out, asking for Finn. “There you are,” it says. “Come with me, you’re going to be late for your appointment!”

The droid takes control of the chair, and Finn vanishes into the medical center. Poe waves, then turns on his heels.

He has work to do.

.

Poe settles into the new base, effortlessly picking up the duties of Starfighter Command. He’s still off full-duty; Kalonia is positive about his arm, says the cast should be off in a week or two, but even then he won’t be able to fly without a couple weeks of physical therapy. Karé has her wish and she and Iolo have been reunited, but there’s a lot of work to be done before they can be sent out again to fight the First Order. Poe does it all gladly, working long hours to put together plans of attack, deciding the Resistance’s next moves while they wait for news from the Senate and from Rey.

But occasionally it all gets too much, and Poe needs to retreat and find some time for himself.

“Hey ma,” he says, alone in his room, late at night, when he can’t sleep.

Poe doesn’t have many possessions. As Karé noted, he tends to give them away – and besides, in his life, travelling from base to base, always ready to evacuate at any moment, having less stuff just makes sense. But there are some things that stay constant. His jacket, Muran’s jacket, that now belongs to Finn, was one of them. Another is one of his mother’s dog tags, still on its chain (the other sits between his father’s, on a chain that Kes Dameron still wears around his neck). A third is a little potted tree, a cutting of the Force Sensitive tree that he grew up with in his front yard.

How it survived is anyone’s guess. Poe doesn’t know. His father helped him cut it, just before he went to the Academy. “It’s good to take a little piece of home with you,” Kes had said. “And a little piece of her.” Because the tree had always been Shara’s, if it ever belonged to anyone. A gift, from Luke Skywalker himself. Poe had taken that cutting and kept it close. It’s been repotted several times since, cut again – if Poe’s at a base for long enough, if conditions are favourable, he’ll plant part of the cutting, and it always thrives. Like whatever the tree is – force-sensitive, part of the Jedi temple if the legends are to be believed – wants to live.

It’s a good thing, anyway. Poe needs the consistency in his life. There’s precious little of it.

His mother died when he was eight years old. He’d spent days sitting, cocooned in the branches of the tree, after she’d passed, its presence solid and comforting. He misses his mother, always has; her warmth, her smile, her jokes, her advice. So, on days like this, when his soul is heavy and weary, he hangs his mother’s dog tag off the branch of a part of the tree she loved so much, and pretends it’s enough.

(Poe is old enough now to know three things; that spirits do linger in this world after death; that his mother is not one of them; and even if she was, what he’s doing wouldn’t do anything to bring her to his side. He doesn’t care about any of this.)

“I’ve been well, don’t you worry. Well…” He scratches the back of his neck, remembering how his mother always used to see right through him. “Things have been a bit tough. But that’s only to be expected. The First Order’s a real threat now – I mean we always thought it was, just they actually moved against the Republic.”

He sighs. “I know you didn’t want me to grow up to be a soldier. I know you hoped that I’d inherit a better world than the one you got. And I did, for a time.” He reaches out, lets the pads of his fingers brush over the indented letters of his mother’s name. LT SHARA BEY, stamped in neat letters, her Alliance identification number below it. “It’s okay ma. I’d rather be fighting for what I believe in than anything else. You know that.”

He pauses for a moment.

“It’s just… I don’t know what I’m doing. In fairness, no one else does either. And I’ve been looking back at old Alliance records. I don’t think you guys knew what you were doing either half of the time. Mind you, I reckon things were a lot less complicated when you were a pilot. We’re not just resisting the First Order, we’ll be at war with half the Republic if we give it enough time. Things are a lot more grey these days.” Poe thinks back to being on a First Order ship, thinking himself dead, when someone he’d have sworn was his enemy turned up and saved him. “I got rescued by a former Stormtrooper, did I tell you that? His name’s Finn. And Stormtrooper… that’s not the right word for him.” Poe takes a deep breath, and starts explaining. How this batch of Stormtroopers, at least, had been taken from their homes at birth, raised to kill, brainwashed, tortured. That they are so different from what the stories say.

And then he tells her about Rey, this orphaned desert girl who’d come from nowhere to be one of the most incredible things Poe’s ever seen. “But I guess you’ve seen that before,” he jokes. “Because that was Luke’s story, wasn’t it? Well, sorry ma. Looks like it’s ours now.”

He sits for a little while longer, fingering the budding leaves of the tree.

“How did you know, ma?” he asks. “About dad?”

The thing is, Poe knows how his parents met. He’s been told many times, about Shara, the young daughter of a shopkeeper, and Kes, the customer who kept coming back, buying small and insignificant things, volunteering to do his mother’s grocery run just to see Shara smile at him once more. How they’d fallen in love over soft ribbing and trying to make food rations go as far as they could. How the entire community had banded together to give them a wedding, out of what they could scrounge up, and how not that long after, they’d heard about the rebel victory at Yavin and realised they could do some good in this world; that they could pay all that kindness back. Poe loved that story as a kid, still loves it now.

“It’s silly, isn’t it,” Poe says. “I always thought I’d just… know.”

(The thing that he isn’t thinking about is that he does know, of course he does, he just hasn’t quite worked out what he’s doing about it.)

“I love you, ma.”

He reaches out and unhooks the chain from the tree, touches the dogtag briefly before slipping it back into his top pocket. Closes his eyes for a moment and just breathes in the calmness. It feels good, to talk to his mother, to let her guide him, even if she isn’t here anymore. It’s still enough.

And maybe later, when the time-difference isn’t insane, he’ll call home and talk to his dad. It’s been long enough.

.

Poe’s sitting in the mess after his first bout of physical therapy – the cast is off, finally – when Pamich Nerro comes tearing in. “Turn on the HoloNet, now!” she orders, sounding anxious and strung up. Poe’s immediate thought is that the First Order have destroyed another planet, but that’s patently ridiculous.

Whoever’s sitting nearest the switch flicks it, and the projection flutters to life on the far wall. The broadcast is from the new Senate Chamber – the HoloNet’s been eagerly reporting on every tidbit of information it can get from the proceedings, streaming the endless debates to the rest of the galaxy. Poe, having sat through enough in person, doesn’t really care for it.

But the headline grabs his attention. _Breaking: Senate to vote on the Galactic Concordance and Military Disarmament Act._

“…They can’t be serious, right?” someone says. They’re promptly shushed by half the mess, trying to listen to whatever’s being said.

“It is clear that listening to this chamber, an agreement will not be reached. We cannot go on this way. The Republic is of no use to anyone if it is continuously deadlocked. It ceases to serve its purpose. Therefore.” The woman standing at the podium pauses for a moment. “I propose a vote. Two main courses of action have been proposed. Either the Republic continues to uphold the Galactic Concordance, and the Military Disarmament Act. Recognises that the galaxy has seen too much bloodshed in recent years, and does not need to see more. This is a commitment to peace and it is honourable. Or the Republic could recognise that the Military Disarmament Act, and the Galactic Concordance are no longer fit for purpose, that they were drafted for a galaxy Chancellor Mon Mothma dreamed of, and that galaxy has failed to materialise. That the First Order is not going to back down without decisive military action, and that can only be realised if we arm ourselves once more.”

“Who’s that?” Jess whispers across the table, aiming the question at Poe.

Poe sighs. It’s not like he actually knows anything about politics, despite sitting in the senate for two weeks. But the telltale lilt is instantly recognisable. “Lin Llei Caeddan. The Senate appointed her as a moderator.”

“Who?” Fialsha asks.

“Cymbeline,” Poe says, using the code-name that she’s sometimes better known under. “She was an Alliance Spy, leaked information from the Empire for eight years.”

There’s a fierce intake of breath from Finn, who’s still busy going through Alliance and Republic history records, learning a wealth of information that was forbidden to him before. Imperial defectors, stories of the clone-troopers, Finn has absorbed all of it in a quest to forge an identity and a history to place himself in. Poe supposes the news of a woman who willingly spent eight years in Imperial hands trying to do some good is just another story to add to that.

“You must all consider your votes carefully,” she continues, standing tall at her podium. “Whatever this chamber decides, you must all be aware that it will likely lead to either the dissolution of the Republic, or a large number of Systems leaving us. I remind everyone that any vote which might be considered a vote to leave the Republic will be considered non-binding, under the terms of Mothma’s secession ballot. This is the deciding moment of this government.”

An elegant women, hair delicately coiffed and decked in opulent jewellery, stands. “Naboo seconds the motion for a vote on the Concordance.”

“Onderon also supports the motion.” Luta stands, looking far more exhausted than when Poe last saw her.

Then someone scrabbles up. “Tarsunt will not let this stand. We still hold the chair of this Senate.”

“No, you don’t,” Lin Llei Caeddan says. “If the delegation from Tarsunt ever had any claim to it in the first place, you don’t have it any longer. We voted on that two days ago, remember?” Her smile is wry, and there is danger in her eyes. “Does this chamber support a motion on whether the Republic should continue to uphold the Galactic Concordance and the Military Disarmament Act?”

A chorus of ayes rings out, clearly the majority. Caeddan clasps her hands together and bows her head. “We vote in two hours. Go, discuss it with your allies and other members of your delegations. The future rests in our hands.” The HoloNews coverage cuts away, back to a studio where commentators are already discussing the potential ramifications.

In the Resistance mess, chaos breaks out. Everyone talking a mile a minute, wondering what will happen. Whether the delegations sent to form the new Senate will support the Concordance, or whether they will finally throw it to the scrap heap where it belongs.

(The Resistance has been operating in defiance of the Galactic Concordance for fifteen years now, so it isn’t surprising that everyone in the mess would like to see it scrapped.)

“What do you think, Poe?” Karé asks, serious face on. “You were there, how’s it going to fall?”

“I don’t know,” Poe replies, completely honest. “At a guess, it’ll be a fairly even split. Force, Luta was telling me this would happen. Whatever they decide, it’ll fracture the Republic.”

“I remember the Concordance being signed,” Snap says. “Mothma’s intentions were good, but Caeddan is right. It was built for a world that didn’t materialise.”

“So, what’s going to happen? I mean, am I reading it right? Any system that votes against the Concordance, and the Military Disarmament Act – they’re saying that we’ve been right all along.” Iolo’s just chucking words out, but at that last point they all look at him.

“Hey, if we finally got some Systems on our side, maybe we’d actually get some credits and stop having to run the Resistance off of spacer’s tape and good will,” Jess says, with a smile.

That comment raises everyone’s spirits, and they turn to theorising what the Resistance could do with proper funds. Most of it is about getting their hands on some T-85 Starfighters, instead of the T-70s they’re all flying at the moment.

But Poe looks across the table to Finn, who still looks unnerved. He’s watching the broadcast, eyes wide as he tracks what they’re saying – someone’s enabled the subtitles. Poe reaches over, and takes Finn’s hand. “Hey. It’ll be okay. Politics always sounds this way. They talk big, but really, whatever they vote, it’ll be a while before anything ever happens.”

Finn doesn’t look particularly reassured by that. But then, Poe suddenly thinks – maybe it’s the whole democracy thing that’s unnerving him. This certainly wouldn’t be the way things were done in the First Order. “Mothma’s Secession Ballot,” Finn says, cautious, like he’s not sure he’s got the term right. “What is that?”

“Umm…” Poe scratches his head. He’s pretty sure he covered this in class, but it was a long time ago. “It’s something to do with Systems being able to secede from the Republic? I think?” He looks around at his fellow pilots, hoping that someone else is listening to the conversation and has an explanation.

“Systems aren’t allowed into the Republic without having a popular vote approving it first,” Karé says. “And each member system is allowed to call a vote every ten years about their continued Republic Membership. In the last thirty years, there’s been over a hundred votes called, and thirteen systems have left the Republic as a result of those votes. Mon Mothma created it as a way to ensure that there would never be another war like the Clone Wars, which were nominally fought over the right to secede from the Republic. And that no system could be held hostage by the wishes of its Representative.” Poe looks at her, slightly gobsmacked at her coherent explanation. “I’m from Naboo,” she shrugs. “Political education is important.”

“… People get to vote?” Finn says, very quietly. “Every single person?”

“Yes,” Karé replies, with kindness written all over her face. “Everyone gets a choice.”

.

No-one leaves the mess unless they have duty. The entire Resistance, apart from essential support staff (those manning comms and the pilots out on CAP), sits and waits as the Senate votes on the future of the Resistance.

They might not be calling it that, but there’s a settled feeling in the hall that that is what this vote is. Some enterprising soul has set up a betting pool asking which way everyone thinks certain systems will vote. Poe is banned from playing, on the accusation of insider knowledge, even though Poe says he doesn’t actually know anything.

The atmosphere gets increasingly tense as the vote starts. The HoloNews presenters blabber on about their predictions of Planetary voting, a running who’s who, and which votes will prove influential. They seem to think it will be a close call. At one point, the cameras pan to General Organa and her retinue, sitting a way back. “Some have suggested that the presence of Leia Organa at this meeting is misbegotten. Certainly, her organisation stands the most to gain if the Senate chooses to reject the Military Disarmament Act,” one of them says.

“That’s unfair,” another chips in. “General Organa has been on the front line of this conflict before the Republic even realised it existed. The loss of the Hosnian System was devastating enough; can you imagine if the weapon had been able to fire again? There are millions who owe their lives to the actions she has taken, even if they are technically illegal under Republic Law.”

“That’s a point.” The camera tilts to yet another one. Poe groans. “If the Concordance is rejected, then does Organa’s Resistance suddenly become legitimate?”

Poe flops on the table. “You don’t understand, guys,” he says. “This is what it was like. Weeks of talking technicalities about things that might not even happen. It was ridiculous.”

BB-8 pipes up with a suggestion. “Yeah, sorry buddy. I think Luta’s probably busy otherwise she’d answer her comm.” BB-8 beeps something Poe is fairly certain is a sigh. “Just get the results already.”

“It doesn’t matter,” J’Challa says. “I mean, it’s not going to change anything immediately. Why are we even watching this so raptly?”

“Because it’s the defining moment of our generation,” Jess replies.

Suddenly, a hush falls, all heads turning back towards the screen. They’ve cut back to the senate chamber, with everyone taking their seats and Lin Llei standing at her podium. There’s now a clear divide between senators. Heading one bench is Luta Rainassan, the Queen of Naboo to her left. Representatives from Mon Cal, Ryloth, Sullust, Kashyyk, and dozens of other systems are clearly identifiable around her. The opposition bench is headed by the Tarsunt delegation, with representatives from Commenor, Candovant, Abednedo and Utyer visible beside him.

“Drat,” Fialsha curses. “Chandrila voted to uphold.” She nods her head at the Chandrillan Senator, dressed in a blue so pale it is almost white, easy to pick out amongst the dark clothes worn by the others.

“You thought they wouldn’t?” Karé shakes her head, looking on in despair.

“Shh!” Someone from the table next to them glares.

Lin Llei Caeddan is clearing her throat, hand on the podium. She looks composed, her face schooled into professionalism, even though she can’t be that calm. Poe half expects her to pontificate, to stand and delay the news. But she doesn’t. “The Senate has voted to uphold the terms of the Galactic Concordance and the Military Disarmament Act,” she says, in perfect neutral tones. The leader of the Tarsunt Delegation smiles. “By a margin of fourteen votes,” she adds.

And the Chamber goes deadly quiet.

There are thousands of systems in the Republic. Fourteen votes is nothing – it’s a drop in the Ocean. You can’t operate a government with a majority of that size. The idea that any vote in the Republic would run that close is practically unthinkable.

Luta Rainassan gets to her feet. She’s shaking, Poe notices, but her voice is clear. “In light of this Chamber’s decision, I would like to register Onderon’s intent to hold a secession ballot. We will not sit idly by while the First Order continues to violate the Concordance, even if it means that we have to tear it down.” She looks to the other representatives, and they all incline their heads to her. “I believe you will also receive petitions from my fellow systems about their continued membership of this Republic. Make no mistake.” Her eyes fall on the Tarsunt leader, old and cloaked in blue, while Luta is a picture of youth, clothed in red. “With the support of our constituents, we intend to leave the Republic.”

Absolute commotion springs to life on the opposite bench, as Senators stand, making violent objections to Luta’s plan. She just sits back down, calm on the bench, and the HoloNews cuts away.

“Sithspit,” Snap says. “They really went and did it.”

There’s something very quiet and disconcerting about the atmosphere. A sense of disbelief; the Republic has in effect just fallen in front of their eyes, yet J’Challa was right. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change for a while. It’ll take a long time to set up the system votes for secession, unless a decision is made to fast track them. It seems unlikely, Poe thinks. The Republic has never been concerned with actually getting things done.

Poe feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns to see Major Brance. “Commander,” Brance says, in the clipped tones that mean it’s official business. “You’re needed in the command center. Immediately, if you would.”

“Of course,” Poe replies. He stands up, pats BB-8 on the head – a subtle message of stay – and looks at Finn. Karé’s already tugged him into conversation, so he doesn’t look back. “Be back later, guys,” he says, raising two fingers to his brow and making a quick salute.

“See you later, Commander,” Snap says, the only one to reply.

.

Poe is tied up in meetings with command for most of the night. He’d forgotten that with General Organa and Admiral Statura at the Senate, and with General Calrissian still out in the Outer Rim doing goodness knows what, Poe is amongst the upper echelons of Resistance leadership currently on base.

Luckily, he’s not the ranking-officer in charge – that would be Admiral Ackbar – but he’s probably fourth in the line of command, and Poe really doesn’t like that.

The discussions are mostly about practicality. Whether or not the decision of several systems to secede will affect the day-to-day operation of the Resistance. Onderon, Naboo, Mon Cal – these are all planets with strong defence forces of their own. On a holocall to General Organa, she mentions that Luta and Queen Priyana have both been trading offers of military support for votes to reject the Concordance. The ability of those systems to provide defence forces to those systems has not yet been adequately verified, and the Resistance may find itself stepping in to plug gaps. The Republic Navy will stay with the Republic, but Organa expects defectors – large numbers of them, citizens of planets that wish to secede – who will come over to the Resistance and fight for them.

“Luta plans to form an Alliance,” the General says, “of systems that stand against the First Order. They will be responsible for their own defences, eventually, and will support the Resistance as the means of fighting the First Order.”

“That brings the number of systems of Government in the Galaxy up to what, six, if we include the Hutts?” Commander Wersh says.

“Seven,” Major Brance corrects. “There’s the Chiss Ascendancy as well, though they don’t present any immediate concern.”

Poe counts them off on his fingers. The New Republic. The First Order. Luta’s Alliance. The Chiss Ascendancy. The Hutts. The Confederacy of Neutral Systems. The Union of Separatist Systems. It’s enough to give anyone a headache.

Still, Poe eventually escapes, even though no real decisions are made. Ackbar looks at how exhausted everyone is and dismisses them, saying that they can come back to this after a night’s rest. Poe means to go to bed, but he can’t resist checking in on Finn first. But Finn isn’t in his room. His bunk is perfectly made, but he might have slept in it and be up already. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Poe comes across BB-8, rolling up and down the base corridors. “Hey buddy,” Poe says, kneeling. “Do you know where Finn’s gone?”

BB-8 gives out a complicated series of beeps, which leads Poe up to the top of the base, where there’s a break in the cliff-face that allows one to look out onto the valley far below them. Sitting on the balcony someone’s set up – it’s a good vantage point, for a sentry and for command to watch the Starfighters come in and out – is Finn, already dressed and ready for the day.

Poe walks over and sits down beside him. “Hey,” he says, in a quiet voice, unwilling to break the serenity of the moment, but wanting Finn to know that he’s there. The dawn is just starting to break, and from here it’s a spectacular view, watching as the light starts to peek through the mountains and catch on the early morning dew.

“Hey,” Finn says. His tone is a little rough, but it’s been a difficult night for everyone. For Finn, only just grasping the concepts of democracy, it must have been even more difficult. So Poe doesn’t pry, just sits beside Finn in a comfortable silence. If Finn wants anything, he’ll ask.

The sun sparks and Finn twists his hands in his lap before he says anything more.

“What does this all mean?” he asks. “What happens now?”

Poe contemplates this for a moment. He doesn’t want to lie, or say anything that might soon be proven untrue.

“It means we keep doing what we always do,” Poe says. “You’ll keep getting better. I’ll keep flying my X-Wing. The Resistance will keep fighting.”

“But how are we going to beat the First Order? The Republic, the Resistance – you don’t understand Poe, they’re like these shining beacons of light. And now the Republic has fallen.”

“Those are strong words, buddy,” Poe says. He reaches over and puts an arm around Finn. “We’ll find a way. We always do. Rey’s going to come back and bring Luke Skywalker and then we’ll have the Jedi on our side. And I was talking to Lin Llei Caeddan, she’s the woman who was moderating the debate.” Finn nods in acknowledgement. “Back when I was with the senate. She thinks you can launch a revolution amongst the Stormtroopers.”

Finn stills, and Poe regrets the tiredness and exhaustion that loosened his tongue. He thought it would be reassuring, but that seems to have failed. “She thinks I can do that?” Finn responds, his voice high and uncertain.

Poe breathes out a sigh of relief. He tugs Finn in a little closer. “Of course. And I do too – if that’s what you want,” he adds, biting his lip. You have to let Finn make his own choices, he thinks to himself. “You can do anything.”

Finn takes the praise and accepts it, remaining quiet, just looking out at the early morning light. He doesn’t question why Poe has such faith in him. Maybe he knows, maybe he’s worked it out; faith comes from love, and knowledge, and trust, and Finn has proven himself to Poe time and again since the first time they met.

But he doesn’t say anything. And neither does Poe.

So they sit there, in the stillness and quiet, until both of them are ready to get up and face the new day.

The fight goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would just like to say a quick thanks to everyone who's read and supported this fic - i really hope you've enjoyed it! as always, i can be reached on [tumblr](drinkupthesunrise.tumblr.com) if you'd like to discuss things. plans are afoot for more things written in this verse, but as of yet i can't quite reveal what they are (they aren't a sequel, not yet, i will reveal that much).


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